


Lyonesse

by Glorfindel



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Discipline, F/M, Humour, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Oddly behaved cat, Revenge, Romance, Sunken realm, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 25,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glorfindel/pseuds/Glorfindel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor has seen the rise and fall of civilisations since the way to Valinor was lost. Like many other elves he chose to stay in Middle-earth, living a carefree life and loving Erestor until the fateful day that Port Royale fell into the sea. Now all that Maglor has are his memories. Or does he? Could Erestor still be alive?</p><p>As Maglor desperately tries to hold onto the memory of the one who loved him, and solve the mystery of his death over 300 years ago, he has events in his own life to consider. As an archeologist, he has access to artefacts uncovered from a new site just off the Cornish Coast. One of them is too important to let anyone have, so why does he allow his scheming boss to steal it? Will he ever get his professional reputation back? Plus, his cat is acting oddly - could it be possessed? </p><p>At the centre of it all, is a ghost that appears in mirrors. It winks at the cat, terrifies the reformed Sauron, and exacts a supreme revenge on behalf of the one he loves. As all the elves come together and meet at Land's End what will happen next? Will prophecy be fulfilled? And what of the ones they leave behind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta Keiliss - you did a wonderful job and made the story even more wonderful with your suggestions.
> 
> Thank you to my artist Ardisia, who did the artwork for the title page - your artwork is as wonderful as you are! I am still excited about it :)

 

 

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

 

 

 

_Back to the sunset bound of Lyonesse –_   
_A land of old upheaven from the abyss_   
_By fire, to sink into the abyss again;_   
_Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,_   
_And the long mountains ended in a coast_   
_Of ever-shifting sand, and far away_   
_The phantom circle of a moaning sea._

Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

 

 

When Tolkien published the Hobbit, Maglor was curious. The day he saw Lord of the Rings in a bookshop he was more than curious, indeed, he wanted to know how a human had such knowledge. He wrote a polite letter to the Professor himself, congratulating him and respectfully enquiring how he came to write such a magnificent epic. The reply was modest. Tolkien thanked Maglor for his enthusiasm and wrote that his inspiration came from various ancient legends and mythologies, and walking in the countryside near his childhood home in Sarehole, Birmingham. That made sense to Maglor; he had read many of the legends contained within the European and Near Eastern mythologies, and he viewed them as bastardisations of the histories of Middle-earth; however, that did not explain how Tolkien was one-hundred percent accurate.

 

Nothing remains the same and truth is always diluted. Oral tradition is fallible, and affected by the culture, beliefs, politics, and circumstances of those who would tell the tales of their ancestors. Maglor reflected that perhaps changing memories were a gift for the human race, just as perfect recall was a curse for the elves. In any case, it hardly mattered now. By the time the Silmarillion was published, Maglor already knew the contents would be accurate. When he read the book, he wondered if the research predated The Lord of the Rings, judging by the content of the book and the style of writing. When he found out for certain, he was not surprised; Tolkien would have completed the histories, even though it was left for his son to sort through the papers and cobble them into a book to be published after his father’s death.

 

In spite of the accuracy of Tolkien's works, Maglor could not help but wonder why one major event at the end of the Fourth Age was not mentioned: Lindon had sunk under the sea after the last ship left for Valinor, thus making return impossible for the elves who chose to stay behind. In mediaeval legend the sunken land of Lindon was known as Lyonesse - but only the elves knew it would one day rise again.

 

 

 


	2. The Pirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor remembers Erestor and questions the nature of love.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

The Capture of The William - Calico Jack Rackham's Ship.

 

 

 

 

Contrary to folklore and the formal recordings of ancient history, Maglor did not wander Middle-earth in self-imposed exile, staring across the sea in the direction of Aman while singing songs of contrition and despair. Neither did he repent of the Oath, sworn by his father’s side, nor his part in the wars that followed, even though the guilt was sometimes too much to bear. Such imaginings belonged to those who sought to wash away the stains of history, leaving a pale rose tinted hue of longing for simpler times, when life was not so complicated and the only sides were right and wrong with nothing in-between. But life is not like that, and never has it been.

 

Over time the impact of the most heinous actions are lost. Removed from reality, they are dismissed as events from long ago with no bearing on the events of today. The absence of artefacts, except for a few surviving fragments, attract only the learned and curious, who work with nothing but oral and written tradition, theory, soil samples, gas chromatography, mass spectrometry and carbon dating. They live in a rarefied atmosphere of indulgent study and research, formulating theories of interest to a few, while life cheerfully carries on, regardless of what went before.  Maglor knew this better than anyone, being a master of the game, and the thought never ceased to mildly amuse him.

 

~~~~o0o~~~~~

 

Erestor. Everything was always Erestor, but Maglor had lived alone without him since the latter part of the seventeenth century. That Erestor was dead Maglor was in no doubt, but recently he wondered if the date of his death was accurate. The question was a recently presented riddle; one that he was determined to solve.

 

Did he still love Erestor? He suspected so. He knew he had in the past, but life had changed Maglor; in true philosophical fashion he questioned the nature of love and whether it really existed. He longed for Erestor, but was that enough to constitute that elusive and short lasting state of being. Could he say that he had loved Erestor, when he hardly believed in the concept itself? Maglor favoured the theory that love was an emotion consisting of a few chemical reactions in the body, the release of hormones affecting the brain and its ability to make clear judgements. The theory was safe, and it was elegant. Until now, it was enough. The past could not hurt if it was denied.

 

Just lately, disquieting thoughts formed in Maglor’s mind. He held before him the cause of the riddle, a facsimile of a letter dated November 1720, written by the once Governor of Jamaica, Sir Nicholas Lawes, to King George I. The contents detailed the hanging of Jack Rackham, otherwise known as Calico, a nickname given because he liked to wear clothing made of the material. Maglor scanned the letter, already knowing the contents by heart. His eyes rested on one paragraph:

 

‘ _The perfidious pirate, Arrestar, was taken prisoner when we captured Rackham’s vessel and crew. Because he is a pirate, Arrestar was sentenced to death after a fair trial, as were the others. By his good fortune, or by God’s good grace, Arrestar was not of their number when we took them from the cells to their execution. The guards testified under oath that he was shackled and held prisoner, along with the rest of Rackham’s crew, and his presence was accounted for a mere hour before he was due to die. The door to the windowless cell remained locked and was watched night and day. The mystery that needs to be solved is how Arrestar escaped the shackles on his wrists and ankles without breaking or unlocking them. The sentence is without limit. When we find Arrestar, judgement will be carried out in your name._

_There is some scurrilous talk among the lower class denizens of the town that Arrestar boarded a ship for England. According to the ship’s manifests, no passenger fitting his description, or bearing his name, boarded any of the outgoing vessels at that time. Therefore, we will continue to concentrate our search for the treacherous blackguard here._ ’

 

Had Erestor not died during the Port Royale earthquake in 1692? Maglor shook his head, a complex array of emotions at war in his mind. He felt betrayed, as if all he knew of their past had been turned on its head. Was Erestor still alive? Did he really sail to England? Arrestar was a pseudonym, one that Erestor had used many times in the past, and certainly always when a pirate. The name and the sudden disappearance of the crewmember left no doubt in Maglor’s mind that he had survived beyond the date he assumed he had died. Why had Erestor not contacted him after surviving the earthquake, or could there really be another pirate called Arrestar, who was skilled in the elven gift of not being seen? Part of him hoped for the latter, simply because he could not countenance that Erestor had not loved him enough to let him know he was alive.

 

“It makes no sense. How is the escape not part of recorded pirate history?” Maglor said to himself. He knew the answer. History is written by the winners. The British Government would always deny that a pirate outwitted them, unless the escape was so spectacular it could not be denied. The black cat sitting on his shoulder jumped onto the floor and settled on the sofa. He glared with bright gold eyes at his owner, before settling down to sleep against a blood red, chenille cushion. “Am I boring you?” Maglor watched as the cat opened one eye. The look of contempt amused him. “Do you think I should look for Erestor? He might very well come to us. You could practice your glares on him as well.” Maglor stroked the short fur, feeling the underlying warmth. Truly, the only creature on the planet he could be honest with was a half-feral, rescued black cat. “Come on Maitimo. Let us see if there is any chicken in the fridge. We can share. I will have a sandwich and you can have a bowl.”

 

The cat slipped off the sofa and slinked into the kitchen. Maglor followed, watching Maitimo’s tail bending at the tip, first one way and then the other.

 

“There,” Maglor said as he placed the bowl of cooked chicken in front of the cat. He stood watching Maitimo eating for a brief moment, before cutting two slices of tiger bread from a small loaf. He filled them with chicken, lettuce, tarragon, and lime mayonnaise. “Maitimo, as usual your dinner conversation is non-existent.” Maglor took a bottle of Guinness from the fridge and walked back to his desk. He sat down and gave his full attention, once again, to the letter written so long ago.

 

There was no point in searching the internet for Arrestar or Erestor. Arrestar was listed as a minor pirate only, mainly because the chroniclers at the time were simply unaware of his actual deeds, so they assumed he had done nothing of note. That was how Erestor wanted it, and so it was. Maglor smiled; if only those who recorded the histories had known. However, the past is not so easily changed. Let others attempt that if they so wished. Maglor wanted nothing to do with it.

 

Arrestar is a Spanish word meaning to arrest or detain; a definition that Erestor found highly amusing when he assumed his pseudonym. An internet search for Erestor produced Lord of the Rings related visuals and fan-fiction, normally about a weak and compliant, needy elf, something that the real Erestor never was. Maglor had read some of the fiction and always wondered how Erestor would react to such libels against his character.

 

Erestor did not approve of weakness and would tolerate it off no one. “Weakness comes in many forms,” he once said, his fingertips brushing lightly against the cheeks of Maglor’s bottom. “I will not tolerate your self-defeating weaknesses. You choose to have them, without a thought for how they affect your life, or us. If you cannot heed my words and guidance, we will be repeating this many more times. Remember and take my words to heart. You can change nothing from your past. Therefore, guilt is a pointless emotion. Guilt enables us to learn from experience and lead a better life. Then, my love, guilt must be put aside because it will have fulfilled its purpose.”

 

Maglor blushed at the memory. Erestor had pulled him over his knee and removed his britches in one smooth action, simply because he expressed regret about killing his opponent in a duel and added the single loss of life to the many others he had taken in the past. First came the discussion, where Maglor had to reason why he acted and thought in ways Erestor considered harmful to himself, and then came the reinforcement, normally a spanking with a stiff leather paddle. It had not been a punishment, Maglor reflected, but a release from an overwhelming and guilt-ridden situation or cycle that he was never completely free of, and where he found himself trapped and unable to flee. Often he felt an exhausted relief afterwards, as if a healing breeze had washed through his fëa. Erestor would hold him tight afterwards and rub his back in wide circles, giving Maglor the occasional soft kiss and leaving him in no doubt that he was his and loved more than any other being alive. There was no need to be overwhelmed by guilt or the events of the past, because Erestor said so, loving Maglor too much to let him continually punish himself. Even so, Erestor could drop Maglor like a stone and walk away, as if he had never cared at all. Maglor sometimes blamed himself. Perhaps each time he had driven him away, yet there was a spark within him, a rebellious flicker of dissent, that knew it was not true. Erestor was an out and out selfish bastard who demanded more than Maglor could give, and that was that.

 

Erestor considered lying to be a cardinal sin. Not the sort of lies where one seeks to deceive an enemy or attempts to pull a harmless trick, but rather the sort where one lies to themselves or to the ones they love. An omission or a small lie would build into something much larger and uncontrollable; such things were inexcusable within a relationship, especially when accompanied by guilt. Erestor had said so many times, and often expressed the opinion that Maglor never listened to him. "Perhaps you like being spanked," Erestor would ponder aloud, knowing the effect of his words. Maglor would shake his head and disagree. The truth was somewhere in-between, as most truths are, and both of them knew it.

 

The irony tugged at Maglor’s being. Erestor hated lying and indulged himself by being brutally honest, no matter how much it hurt. He did not lie to Maglor about his feelings and emotions, and expected the same in return. So why was there a letter written twenty-eight years after Erestor’s supposed death that indicated he might have survived the earthquake which sank the Jamaican port under the sea? Wasn’t his silence a lie in itself?

 

“I miss you so much,” Maglor said softly.

 

Maitimo sprang up onto the desk. He padded across the letter, before jumping onto Maglor’s shoulder. “Stop digging your claws into my shoulder and sit down,” Maglor snapped. The cat saw the shining, melancholic eyes of his owner. That would not do at all, he needed to be stronger than that. Maitimo swiped his paw across Maglor’s cheek and hissed angrily.

 

“Fucking cat!” Maglor yelled as he dumped Maitimo onto the floor. “I should have called you Sauron. Or Erestor... ”

 

 


	3. Wild and Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor stood on the dirt track road, wild and beautiful...

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Old Port Royal before the earthquake. 

 

 

Erestor stood on the dirt track road, wild and beautiful, the wind flipping the ends of his thick black braid, woven through with ribbons of red and gold. Through one ear hung a gold earring studded with diamonds, fashioned from the stolen wedding band commissioned for the Spanish Infanta, or so Erestor bragged to Henry Morgan as they made plans to sack Maracaibo. A white silk shirt, trimmed with gold lace, hung loosely over his black leather breeches. The outline of two daggers and a pistol could just be seen as the sea breeze blew across the thin material. Warm blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes gazed lazily at Maglor, who wondered at the paradox of how his lover could appear so beautiful when his heart and actions were as black as sin.

 

Erestor was dangerous and unpredictable, just as Maglor had been so many thousands of years ago, yet he possessed restraint where others might not. Sirion came to mind; Erestor had killed without mercy, but unlike some in the army he drew a distinction between the innocents, as he called them, and those who could fight for themselves. Alongside Maglor, he was one of the few who argued against killing Elrond and Elros, two children caught up in the adult schemes of war. As a buccaneer, Erestor had been a loyal member of the Brethren of the Coast, as had Maglor. Life had not been kind to Maglor, beating him into submission, his guilt and fear shaped his thinking and the way he lived his life. Erestor was intolerant, but he had not endured the hardships that shaped Maglor and never would.

 

“Macalaurë.” Erestor winked and licked his lips. “The Flying Squirrel is coming into dock. Look, there she is.” He pointed to a ship far off. “Here, use this.”

 

Maglor took the spyglass and saw the sloop approaching. A fast and light ship, it could hold seventy-five men, and was once used for raiding small settlements. “Do you miss the old days?” Maglor asked, knowing that Erestor would know exactly what he meant.

 

The year was 1692. A few years before, Jamaica, under the governorship of Henry Morgan, had passed anti-piracy laws. Erestor had often commented how glad he was that he had made his fortune as a privateer and pirate before Morgan had decided to kiss the arses of the British and outlaw his own profession. They owned a large house in a respectable merchant area, which was near to the main docks but far enough away for them not to hear the public executions of their brothers in trade after they were caught in acts of piracy and judged forthwith.

 

Erestor nodded. “Remember when we used to dock after a successful raid and buy rum for the whole island?” The pirates then had rolled barrels of raw rum up the streets and insisted that all who passed drink to the fruits of their success. If you did not want to drink, they forced you, but the past is always remembered through a rose tinted hue.

 

“It’s no fun here anymore,” Maglor said sulkily. “The highlight of my day is when we fuck. I hate this place.”

 

“Me too. Let’s go to New Providence. We are renowned enough for a good welcome.”

 

Maglor grinned. “We will need to sell the house.”

 

“Let’s set fire to it and burn the town to a cinder,” Erestor proposed, chuckling as he did so. “It would be justice for betraying their own.”

 

“There are many who feel the same as we do,” Maglor said, hoping that Erestor was not serious. “It would be an act of great wickedness...”

 

“What am I to do with you?” Erestor sighed, impatiently. “Am I a bad elf? How often do I get the chance to be so?”

 

Maglor grinned. “You might decide to try for one last great act.”

 

“I tell you now, a crime like that does not go unnoticed. There would be a price set upon our heads and our welcome in New Providence much less certain.” Erestor drew closer to his lover. “How many times have I told you to trust me? Have I ever let you down?”

 

“Sometimes you have just walked away...”

 

“It’s either that or kill you,” Erestor replied, a huge grin lighting up his face. “You drive me to distraction, and that is when I go. I always come back though. Don’t I?”

 

“After breaking my heart each and every time,” Maglor replied, his face rigid with the emotion that was never far under the surface. He hated how weak it made him seem, especially to one who, on the surface, appeared to not understand such things.

 

“Perhaps you should not love me so much, and then you wouldn’t get hurt,” Erestor said softly. “In spite of everything, I will always love you. I may not be able to stand living with you for too long, but my love never wanes.”

 

“We have had this conversation before,” Maglor said, fighting back the grief, his face a mask of iron control. “I will not be hurt again.” He turned away and walked back towards the town, to where he and Erestor shared a house.

 

Erestor sighed. He took his spyglass and looked again at the Flying Squirrel, without once training it upon Maglor’s receding back.

 


	4. Bimini.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Erestor drowned at sea, he certainly deserved to...

They always ended like that, Maglor reflected. He drank a cup of coffee, strong and black with no sugar, before reading the facsimile again. Perhaps Erestor drowned at sea, he certainly deserved to. Or perhaps he took on another identity after making his escape. Maglor smiled at the black cat studying him. “I doubt we will ever know, but it would be amusing to try and find out.”

 

Maitimo looked at him briefly before jumping down to the floor and padding silently to the bedroom. Undeterred, Maglor took his mobile phone and began to sort through the various numbers stored within. After a few seconds, he pressed the touch screen and put it to his ear.

 

“Hi Tom? It’s Maglor. Thanks for the copy. Is there any way I can see the original?”

 

Tom’s voice was as clear as daylight through glass. One would think he was in the next room. “If you come over here you can,” he replied. “It would be good to see you again.”

 

“It’s been awhile.” Maglor looked at his diary. “End of year is coming up. I can possibly get off earlier, if I say I am spending the summer on an archaeology expedition that would benefit the university. The only thing they would quibble about is the expense, but if I self-fund they won’t put up too many objections.”

 

“You want to hear something odd?” Without waiting for a reply Tom continued. “I was diving off the Bimini Wall and found an indentation on one of the rocks. When I cleared the surface away there was a rough carving that said ‘Macalaurë’. I would estimate it to be around three hundred years old at the most, probably less, but not much so.”

 

“That’s really odd,” Maglor said, his mind furiously turning in circles. To his knowledge, Erestor had never been to the Bahamas for any length of time during their life in Jamaica. Not long enough to dive down and carve a name on the stones on the sea floor anyway. To carve anything in stone at a depth of three fathoms deep would have taken some time and Erestor would have boasted about doing so if he had. Perhaps it meant that Erestor had survived the earthquake and made his way to New Providence, or perhaps Maglor was clutching at straws.

 

“You can see it when you come over,” Tom said, breaking Maglor’s thought. “It will be good to see you again.”

 

“Same here. Any particular time I should avoid coming or can I just turn up?”

 

“You are always welcome. You know that.” Tom’s voice took on a slightly softer edge.

 

 

 


	5. A New Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one noticed the black haired woman...

[](http://photobucket.com/)

Maglor's University.

 

“What about your research?” George Mitchell, the dean of the university that employed Maglor, poured coffee into two cups. He gave one to Maglor and placed the other one before himself. “Black, no sugar. Just how you like it,” he said automatically. He sat in a black leather chair and interlaced his fingers over his ample chest, not touching the drink he had just poured.

 

“Tom Graham has made some significant finds concerning the politics of Buccaneers in the 17th century. I intend overlapping and possibly linking the research with the Lyonesse project and producing two papers in succession. That will, of course, lead to two books and the possibility of a television series. The BBC have already put feelers out asking if there is actual hard evidence of a lost civilisation under the sea and whether I would be available to either present or advise.”

 

George looked over the top of his glasses at Maglor, seemingly unimpressed, but with a flicker of animation betraying his underlying excitement. “We could use your media presence to justify increasing charges to the maximum allowed.”

 

“You already charge the earth!”

 

With a sighing shake of his head, George explained that university provision was, ‘not about education anymore, but about making a profit, the bigger the better’. He laughed at his own joke, which was not a joke at all. “Education is now a by-product; the business is what really counts.”

 

“I am going anyway, so you might as well agree.” Maglor put the cup down on the brown polished desk, deliberately not using the black granite coaster provided. It amused him that the cup left a wet ring on the varnish. “If you disagree, I shall resign and take my research with me.”

 

“You cannot take it. You researched on university time and used our resources and facilities. That makes it ours.”

 

Maglor gave a strange smile. “George. I can do as I please. You know that.”

 

“Maglor.” George held out his hands, palms up, a conciliatory gesture. “We go back a long way. Why are we arguing? We are friends, aren’t we?” He looked appealingly at Maglor's unmoving face. “We are not going to fall out over you leaving two weeks early. If you need to go, then so be it. I presume you will be back at the start of the new term?”

 

“That is my intention,” Maglor replied. “Right, I have a plane to catch. Enjoy your summer. I am going to enjoy mine.”

 

“Keep in touch,” George called as Maglor exited through the door. His face fell as soon as it was safe to do so. He pressed a button on his phone. “Lucy? Maglor has just left. Did he say anything to you on his way out?”

 

“Yes, George,” Lucy spoke as if she was smiling. “He told me to tell you that he recorded your conversation with him on his iPod. Do you think he did?”

 

“I doubt it. You know what he is like,” George lied grimly, knowing that Maglor never said anything unless he meant it. Maglor had him again. Always one step ahead. “I am going to get something to eat. Can I get you a sandwich?”

 

Lucy politely declined.

 

When George left the office, he went to a payphone. He offered the voice on the other end a moderately large amount of money. All he had to do was copy the information in Maglor’s computer and photograph personal and research documents. The whole apartment had to be searched for hiding places and possibly a safe where a ring might be found. A special ring with a blue stone recovered from the excavations of the sunken realm of Lyonesse. When all the information was gathered, George would report Maglor for the theft of priceless artefacts, keeping the ring for himself, of course. It would be the last time Maglor held him over a barrel.

 

 

 

o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

That evening, Maglor packed two suitcases full of clothing and added them to three that were already by the front door. The next morning, after chasing Maitimo around the apartment for a few minutes, he managed to get him into the padded wicker cat basket, complete with metal grill front that enabled the cat to push his paw out and swipe indiscriminately at his owner.

 

“Bloody cat,” Maglor muttered as he fixed the cat’s basket to the front seat of his car. He sucked his little finger; Maitimo’s claw had drawn blood. It was almost as if the cat was laughing.

 

They drove to Newcastle International Airport. A small setup that looked far less grand than its name suggested. Inside, the place was crowded, which suited Maglor well. No one noticed the black haired woman who took the trolley holding three of the cases after Maglor checked in two for his flight, and neither were they meant to. She drove away in a hired car and eventually joined the A1 motorway, heading south.

 

Maglor deposited his cat in the Animal Reception Centre. They scanned Maitimo’s microchip and examined the vaccination papers and pet passport, before taking him away, to keep until the plane was ready to board. As soon as Maitimo was cleared for travel, Maglor made his way to the departure lounge. He would not feel safe until he was on the plane and they had left the ground. After that he would be free of the politics and squabbles of the university and set upon a new adventure, one that could literally change his life.

 

“Hello,” Maglor held the mobile phone to his ear.

 

“I got away safely.” Lucy seemed to falter. “The...”

 

“Say nothing. Everything will work as planned.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

Maglor smiled. He would never return to the university. In his bones, he felt as if his time was coming to an end, as if a resolution was fast coming. It was safe to settle old scores, and so he would.

 

 

 


	6. Cornwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to keep talking to me in that tone of voice?” Gildor asked quietly.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Land's End - Cornwall

Lucy drove to Cornwall. She pulled up outside a large cottage on top of a cliff near Land’s End and sounded the horn before getting out to stretch her legs.

 

A tall man appeared at the door. His grin was as careless as his appearance. “Hey Lucy! You arrived just in time. Gildor is cooking dinner.”

 

“Hey! It’s good to see you again. The cases are in the boot. I was so scared that I would get caught with all these finds in my car. They would have definitely been found if Maglor put them on the plane.” Lucy rubbed her left brow bone and took the black wig off, freeing her chestnut coloured hair. “I have a migraine.” She hugged Lindir hard. “I wish I could stay.”

 

“Never mind. I will drive us back, so you can sleep, just don't tell Gildor. He has packed some food for us.”

 

“Are you ready to leave?”

 

“We are having dinner first.”

 

They walked up the path bordered on both sides by hollyhocks delphiniums, aquilegias, lavender, phlox, candytuft and pinks. The overpowering scents made Lucy retch, although normally she would have enjoyed them.

 

“Aim for the mint patch,” Lindir said with a chuckle. “We never use it.”

 

Gildor came to the door, drying his hands on a tea towel. He looked at Lucy being sick and sighed. “She cannot go back like that.”

 

“Yes she can. I can drive and she can sleep until we get there,” Lindir said hopefully, knowing Gildor would refuse. He thought it worth a try anyway.

 

“Neither of you are going anywhere until Lucy feels better,” Gildor replied with eyebrows raised. He went back inside the cottage, calling for them both to follow.

 

“I’m sorry. I got stuck in traffic.” Lucy yawned. “I have some Sumatriptan in my bag...”

 

“It’s good to see you again.” Gildor kissed her forehead and handed her a glass of water. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? I’ll send Lindir up to wake you when dinner is ready.”

 

“You can lie in my bed,” Lindir offered.

 

“What? The one you never use?” Gildor chuckled, before lightly swatting Lindir’s hip with the tea towel.

 

 

o0o0o0o0o0o

 

 

Lindir and Gildor sat at the table waiting for the casserole to finish cooking. The air was thick with the aroma of homemade sausages and fried onions, seasoned with herbs from the garden.

 

“What do you make of this?” Gildor handed a flat, three inch square, token to Lindir. One of Maglor’s suitcases lay open on the wood floor. A selection of differently sized, neatly packed boxes lay within. One was open, the interior filled with black tissue paper.

 

“It's made of gold and looks like a pass allowing admittance to somewhere. Heavily chased in the Third Age style? I recognise the words ‘Erestor of Imladris’, I think. My Sindarin is almost non-existent now, so the other words are beyond me. It’s been so long. If we were able to return to Valinor, I doubt we would be able to understand anything they said. After all, we speak very differently to how we did a thousand years ago.” Lindir shrugged before turning the pass over. The back was just as ornately engraved. “These elves had too much time and too little to do, I would say.”

 

Gildor smiled. “It is indeed a pass. You show it to the elf at the door and he lets you through. This one has Erestor’s name on it. It seems he was fond of visiting the Mithlond Palace courtesans.”

 

Lindir grinned. “Just imagine if Erestor lost his pass. He would knock the door down and beat senseless any elf who tried to stop him entering.”

 

“According to Maglor’s notes, it was found about eight miles from here, under the sea, just off the Lyonesse site.”

 

Lindir’s eyes widened at the implication. “I thought hardly any useful artefacts were found yet?” He peered at the case. “I bet there’s loads in there.”

 

“Well, Maglor is an eminent archaeologist specialising in lost civilisations. Like the ones of old, he probably stole them. You know what he is like. Although, if it belonged to Erestor he would not consider it stealing at all.” Gildor reached across the table and kissed Lindir’s forehead. “I am going to miss you. As soon as the job is done you come straight back here. I am going to come and get you if you do not.” He ruffled Lindir’s hair before sitting back down.

 

“Yes! I know! We have been through this before!” Lindir sighed in exasperation. “You _can_ trust me.”

 

“Need I remind you what happened last time you went on a job?” Gildor smiled, but his meaning was clear. On the way home, Lindir had stopped at a motorway service station and bought a burger from a fast food restaurant. After a couple of hours driving, he started to feel sick. He stopped at a motorway lay-by and vomited out of the car window. A passing police car stopped to help. They contacted Gildor on Lindir’s mobile phone, requesting that he collect his sick friend. Gildor drove to the next county to collect him, and lectured him all the way home about eating dodgy food from fast food places in service stations, which was unnecessary because he had packed more than enough food for the journey. The next morning they discussed the incident, Lindir said it was to death, before Gildor made him stand in the corner, facing the wall and with his heads on his head, for the rest of the morning.

 

“I promise I will not buy burgers from motorway service stations!” Lindir almost shouted at Gildor.

 

“Do you want to keep talking to me in that tone of voice?” Gildor asked quietly.

 

“No,” Lindir buried his head in his arms, feeling his forehead against the cool wood of the table. “Sorry.”

 

Gildor got up from the table and put the pass token back in its box before zipping up the suitcase and placing it against the wall with the others. He bent down to kiss Lindir’s cheek and told him to lay the table. Lindir placed the cutlery on the table, sulking as he did so. Gildor seemed not to notice, but he had. He always did.

 

“Lucy?” Gildor gently shook her shoulder. “Time for dinner. Do you think you can manage some food?”

 

 


	7. Providence Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor hardly spoke at all, preferring to look at the sun-washed buildings and palm trees.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Lyford Cay Marina.

 

 

Maglor walked through Arrivals in Lynden Pindling International Airport, situated just west of Nassau on Providence Island. As he cleared the barrier he heard Tom call his name.

 

“Tom,” Maglor called as he walked towards his old friend. “You haven’t changed.” He placed his two suitcases on the floor and wrapped his arms around Tom’s slight but wiry frame. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“Liar,” Tom accused, with a smile. “I look at least five years older, but you haven’t aged at all.”

 

“Good moisturiser.” Maglor shrugged.

 

“No. You really haven’t,” Tom said, looking slightly mystified. “That must be some bloody moisturiser.”

 

“I need to collect Maitimo.”

 

“You could have boarded him.” Tom smiled as he pulled Maglor in the direction of the pet arrivals centre.

 

“He asked to come. Hasn’t had a holiday for years, apparently.” Maglor grinned and Tom laughed.

 

After collecting Maitimo, who was yowling angrily and trying to poke his paw through the bars to swipe Maglor, they made their way across the patterned blue carpet and left through the double exit doors further along the low-level building.

 

“We haven’t got far to go.” Tom took Maglor’s arm and surreptitiously felt the hard muscle under the skin. “You haven’t lost any of your strength. I thought you would after taking up that desk job.”

 

“Lecturing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I don’t even know if I will go back.” Maglor felt happier than he had for months. The sun felt bright on his face, lifting his spirits and flooding through his fëa. “Where are we off to?”

 

“To my yacht. You haven't seen this one.” Tom hailed a taxi and directed the driver to take them to Lyford Cay Marina. The drive was short. Maglor hardly spoke at all, preferring to look at the sun-washed buildings and palm trees. The stress of his old life lifted away to be replaced by a feeling of expectation that was tempered with a lurking dread of disappointment. How many times had he followed false leads, he wondered, counting the times in his head. All had fizzled out into nothing, tantalising but not quite giving enough information for any sort of further investigation. For a while, he was able to put the past behind him and live his life, accepting that Erestor was dead and he needed to move on. However, the past has a way of catching one off guard, and so it did with Maglor.

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Tom said softly.

 

“It’s summer in England, but nowhere near as hot as this. This is how a summer should be.” Maglor looked at Tom’s sun brown face and smiled. “It is good to be here.”

 

“You are worried about whether I have got you out on a fool’s chase,” Tom said simply. His grey eyes looked into Maglor’s. “Only you can answer that, and only you know why it is so important.”

 

They arrived at the marina. Tom led Maglor and his cat to a medium sized, white yacht. To either side he was flanked by much larger vessels, offering the structure some shade from the strong sun.

 

“When did you get this?” Maglor asked, awestruck. “What happened to that bucket you used to own?” He crossed from the wooden jetty onto the boat. Maitimo yowled for all he was worth. Tom led them inside, through a stateroom into a small corridor.

 

“Kit left me a shitload of money in his will. The terms said I had to buy a decent boat and get rid of my old one. So I did.” Tom opened a door leading to a bedroom and ushered Maglor inside. “You know how he always worried about whether I would come back safely or sink. I told him that was part of the fun, but it never stopped him nagging me.”

 

“I never realised he was so wealthy,” Maglor said softly. “You must miss him.”

 

Tom nodded. “I would give all this up for ...”

 

Maitimo yowled loudly, cutting off Tom’s soft-spoken reply. Maglor freed the cat from his travel box and watched as it tore around the bedroom, claws ripping at wherever it landed, before disappearing under the bed.

 

“Bloody cat,” Tom said.

 

“He will come out when he is hungry.” Maglor followed Tom out of the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

 

 


	8. The Robbery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want you anywhere near me,” George hissed. “I don’t want to get caught and neither do you.”

 

 

 

Lucy and Lindir travelled north. She drove, while Lindir sat in the passenger seat, sulking because Gildor had said he was not to drive. Lucy would take the motorway and not catch the attention of the traffic police, whereas he could not be so sure with Lindir, who had been arrested for speeding a week before. The grass grew duller with each degree of latitude. The drive would take at least five hours, possibly more if they hit traffic. They set off in the early hours hoping for a straight run; so far, there was hardly a car on the road.

 

At the same time, Maglor’s apartment was, apparently, being searched. The man George hired was supposed to rifle through the drawers and put everything back as it was, but he sat on the black leather couch, watching an Elfin Lied anime Blu-ray on Maglor's fifty-three inch flat screen, while helping himself to a bottle of wine he found in the fridge and a bowl of olives stuffed with orange pimento. Before doing so, he took photos on his mobile phone ‘to act as a guide for repositioning everything he displaced’. George had ordered that he do so and hinted that he might want to see the photos afterwards as evidence that the man had actually been there. Maglor must not suspect a thing, because that was part of his plan. The thought of Maglor suddenly having the tables turned on him appealed to George immensely. He laughed to himself, picturing Maglor's face when he saw his research and writing published by someone else before he had a chance to do so for himself. Even if he did say anything, George could argue that no one had actually seen Maglor's theories and writings about the sunken land of Lyonesse, and so they only had his word that they existed. George never really thought anything through to a proper conclusion.

 

Life is full of disappointments. Some major and some insignificant.

 

“George, the place is clean.” The man grinned as he gave George the bad news. He curled his fingers loosely into his palm, thumb meeting forefinger, and moved it back and forth. ‘Wanker,’ he said under his breath as he silently laughed.

 

“WHAT? What do you mean clean?” George gripped onto his phone in disbelief. “It can’t be.”

 

“The safe is empty. The hard drive isn’t in the computer. No camera. No voice recorder. The land phone is gone; I suspect he wanted it for the answer-machine. There is nothing that might contain data, and there is no evidence of any artefacts. I even took some of the floorboards up and looked under the floor space. There are no hiding places in the walls or above the cupboards. The whole place is clean. It’s like he expected something like this to happen.”

 

“Fucking bastard,” George growled into the phone. “Are you ringing me from your phone?”

 

“No, from a call box. Do you think I am stupid?” He actually was ringing from Maglor’s phone. Having dialled 141 before the main number ensured that George would see ‘number withheld’ and nothing else. It did not matter to the man if the police found records of his phone call; he liked to cause trouble for its own sake, primarily because it amused him to piss George off.

 

“Well that’s a relief,” George said with a sigh.

 

“Do you want to see the photos I took?” The man was finding it even harder not to give himself away. “’Cause I can bring them round now to show you.”

 

“I don’t want you anywhere near me,” George hissed. “I don’t want to get caught and neither do you.”

 

“Right, you owe me. You can get that secretary of yours to give me the money. I might even ask her out to dinner.”

 

“But you didn’t find anything,” George spluttered. “And you keep away from her. She is not for toerags like you.”

 

The man sighed. “I could always break your fingers...”

 

 


	9. Macalaurë

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Salt. Your lips taste of salt.”

 

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Bimini Wall.

 

 

 

Maglor and Tom were diving above the Bimini Road, an underwater natural formation of limestone rocks, situated just north of the island of Bimini, part of the Bahamas group of islands. The sunlight dappled the surface of the clear blue sea, while a light breeze gave some relief from the overhead sun. Maitimo perched on a capstan head, licking his paws. All morning he pointedly ignored Maglor and his silly friend, who kept trying to tickle under his chin. He thought Maglor was wasting time, but the sun was warm and he felt wonderful, it was time to have a nap, as it always was.

 

Maglor’s fingers traced the carving. ‘Macalaurë’. The edges were well defined and the letters deeply carved in the rock. Maglor and Tom were at the end of the hook part of the road, an area not as well explored as the main part. Tom replaced the rock that had protected the carving, after Maglor had taken a photo of it for his records. They swam along the adjoining part of the road, Maglor hoping for more clues. Tom was not so sure he would find any, but indulged him anyway. He could not understand why Maglor would travel thousands of miles to confirm a photo and to read the original to a facsimile; however, he was not complaining; last night had been good indeed. It was a while since anyone had made him feel like that. As far as Tom was concerned, Maglor could stay as long as he liked.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o

 

“Macalaurë,” the voice said softly. Maglor lay on the cusp of sleep, his body sated and mind at peace.

 

“Tom? Did you say something?” Maglor hoped he had, or that his mind was playing tricks on him. Maitimo lay on the end of the bed, alert and listening, his luminous eyes glowing in the darkness from the reflected light of the moon shining through the balcony window.

 

Tom did not answer. Maglor stroked the top of his arm as he asked softly if he was awake. Maitimo looked up and stopped licking his paw. He found Maglor highly annoying, simply because of his inability to listen, to really listen. The cat padded up the bed and snuggled against Tom’s chest. When Maglor tried to stroke him, he bit his finger.

 

“Ow! Bloody cat,” Maglor hissed. Maitimo snuggled further into the warm body against him and ignored his owner.

 

Maglor shut his eyes but sleep was slow in coming. His dreams consisted of warm blue waters and the Bimini Road, transforming into murkier blue-green ones where he felt the cold chill pierce his body. Below him were rocky formations, quite unlike the Road where he had been diving a few hours before. The rain pelted onto the surface of the water above, a sound that Maglor was only dimly aware of. He stared transfixed as glowing figures played out an existence from many years before, seeming not to know he was there. How his heart ached as he reached out to touch two figures who seemed to be dancing. His hand passed through them and they disappeared. With them, the other figures stopped moving and gradually faded into nothingness.

 

“Come back,” Maglor called out, his hand reaching forward as the seawater entered his mouth. “Come back. I want to be with you. I want to go home.”

 

Erestor stood about fifty feet before him. Maglor swam forward, new hope in his heart, but as he neared, Erestor seemed even further away. Eventually, Maglor stopped still and waited.

 

“Come home, Maglor.” Erestor grinned and his eyes twinkled. The gold ring through his ear caught a shaft of invisible light and shone brightly before fading again. The red and gold ribbons floated in the water away from the thick black braid, while the silk shirt billowed and caught in the currents, lifting slightly to uncover the two daggers and pistol tucked in the waistband of his black leather breeches.

 

“How do I come home?” Maglor asked softly.

 

“Walk on the sea...Find me...” Erestor’s voice faded, while the inside of Maglor’s mask fogged. He called out, trying to pull the mask away from his face. The cold water shot into his mouth and up his nose as his diving gear disintegrated. Something brushed against his leg, causing Maglor to panic and swallow more salt water. He struggled, thrashing and crying out, before waking up. Sitting bolt upright, coughing hard and with eyes watering, it took a few seconds for him to realise where he was.

 

Tom held him close. “You’re all right. Maglor, you are all right. I am here. You had a bad dream.”

 

Maglor coughed and a mouthful of water spilt onto the sheets. He tried to say that his lungs were full of water but no sound issued from his mouth. Still panicking, he tore away from Tom’s grasp and jumped out of bed, bending over, so his head nearly reached the floor. Maglor coughed for all he was worth. A pool of water spread over the carpet, increasing slightly with each expectoration.

 

“It’s like your lungs were full of water.” Tom watched, horrified and concerned at the same time. He smacked his palm across Maglor’s upper back, encouraging him to cough until the water had left his body. “What’s this?”

 

Breathing heavily, almost panting, Maglor looked up. His red-rimmed eyes stared at the tiny live fish, a hatchling no more than a few days old, lying in Tom’s palm.

 

“Sprattus sprattus, if you want to be all Latin about it. Otherwise known as a sprat.” Tom looked mystified as he examined the fish. “Indigenous to the North Sea. How did you cough that up here? We are on the wrong continent for a start. Don’t tell me it’s been swimming around in your lungs since you left England.” The sprat started to flip and bend, drowning in the air. Tom walked swiftly to the window and threw it in the sea. “Probably won’t survive. The heat of the water will be too much for it, or another fish will have it for dinner, probably as a starter.”

 

“I haven’t been diving for six months at least, not since I stayed with Gildor and Lindir in their cottage in Cornwall. It’s not possible for a fish egg to live in my lung all that time and then hatch.” Maglor sat on the edge of the bed, clearing his throat and spitting into a tissue.

 

Tom nodded, as if considering Maglor’s words. “You think too much.” He sat astride Maglor and kissed his lips. “Salt. Your lips taste of salt.”

 

The warmth of Tom’s body invited Maglor to think of other things than the present mystery. Pulling Tom closer he kissed his lips before taking his cock in his hand. Maitimo glared at them before digging his claws into the bed sheet. They need not think he would move.

 

 


	10. Sauron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sauron hadn’t always been a friend to the elves.

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

The Quayside during Tall Ships Week.

 

Sauron sat on the top balcony of his quayside house watching the crowds milling about, visiting the fairground stands and fast food stalls. About fifteen tall ships lined up along the quay, their sails furled. At the end of the week they would sail away and cross the sea to another country, where the celebrations would begin anew. Sauron took a sip of wine, the bottle was one of several liberated from Maglor’s fridge while he was supposed to be searching his flat. Maglor would not mind; after all, they were friends and he did not take anything of value. Of course, he would offer to replace the wine bottles knowing that Maglor would refuse. Sauron reflected that might be because he bought his wine from supermarkets, whereas Maglor tended to favour wines direct from French estates. He pictured Maglor’s face as he told him about George’s nefarious request, because tell him he would; he was looking forward to it. The thought of Maglor’s face when he told him caused him to chuckle, as did the knowledge that George would never contact anyone other than him to do his undercover criminal work because he was too scared of the consequences.

 

The smell of hamburgers wafted up from the fast food vans below Sauron's balcony. He had to be strong and resist. Lucy would be arriving soon with Lindir and they would be expecting a barbecue. “Damn.” There was a crash originating from one of the rooms behind him. Sauron shook his head. “Lenin, Trotsky, what are you both doing?” Two cats, one Savannah and the other Bengal, raced out of the living room doors and jumped on his lap. Sauron’s long, slim fingers stroked through the distinctively marked furs of his two pets. “I am going to be very annoyed if I find you have been helping yourself to the kebabs. They are for Aunty Lucy and Uncle Lindir, two very good friends of ours.”

 

Sauron hadn’t always been a friend to the elves.

 

When the One Ring was thrown into the fiery lava of Mount Doom, he had lost most of his power. Almost all of it in fact. Injured, severely weakened, and bleeding, he crawled from under the rubble, knowing that death must surely be near. But he did not die. Wishing for death was no guarantee it would happen.

 

The elves rescued Sauron and took him to the healing tents, not knowing who he was. To them he was just another casualty of war, a fact that eluded Sauron as he lay waiting for them to kill him. Surely, that was what they would do; he was the enemy after all. Instead, they remarked on how a bad aura emanated from him, while an authoritative voice told his helpers to remove him to a separate tent, lest he infect others by poisoning the atmosphere. They also said he was ugly, and one voice in particular whispered that no one could look upon his face without an accompanied churning of the stomach. Sauron did not care. He wanted to die and would do so as soon as his hand had access to a dagger. At the absolute nadir of his existence, Sauron wished for death with the same fervour that he had formerly shown when pursuing world domination. He dreamt of peace, of quiet darkness where he could never wake again. Life was not worth anything, and served as a constant reminder of how he was a failure and wholly responsible for his distress and agonising pain.

 

“Legolas, he is terribly ill; nearly all his bones are broken. Even if he survives, which is highly unlikely, he will be bent and twisted for the rest of his life.” Sauron guessed that Aragorn spoke, because of the authority in his voice.

 

“Then his body will match the ugliness of his face,” Legolas said quietly. “I know I seem harsh, but every time I approach him I feel his evil. If he told us his name was Sauron I would not be surprised, even though he seems to have hardly any power within him.”

 

‘Tent sides are no match for stone walls’, Sauron reflected, while listening to the voices on the other side of the thick canvas. Or perhaps Legolas meant him to hear. Sauron cared neither way; his wish for death was overwhelming. If it helped he would announce who he was so that they could dispatch him quickly.

 

“Maybe we feel him as evil because he was a prisoner in that dark and foul place,” Aragorn suggested.

 

“Or he could be Sauron himself,” came Legolas’ tart reply. “The Ring is destroyed and so he will have lost most of his power. When Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand the first time he diminished immediately; it took many centuries for him to build up his power again.”

 

“Then that power was independent of the Ring and he would still have it,” Aragorn reasoned wrongly. “I agree he is evil, but I doubt he is actually Sauron.”

 

“If he is not Sauron then he is someone who was extremely close to him,” Legolas decided. “Look at his face; only evil can mar an elf like that. In fact, I doubt he is even an elf; he doesn’t feel right to me.”

 

“Then what is he?” Aragorn asked.

 

Legolas shrugged his shoulders. “A Maia would have more power, so it is unlikely...”

 

“He is just an ugly, damaged elf,” Aragorn said, finishing Legolas’ sentence for him. “Sauron is perfectly capable of deforming an elf, both physically and mentally. He needs our compassion.”

 

“No I do not.” Sauron tried to speak, but his swollen tongue would not move in the way he wanted it to.

 

“He is awake.” Legolas sighed, as if with disgust. “I can hear him gurgling.”

 

Sauron had bit his tongue almost in two during the fall from his tower. Rough, black threads pierced the skin and muscle of his swollen tongue, holding it together. Wooden splints straightened his broken limbs and his body was crisscrossed with lines of large black stitches holding together the places where his skin had ripped apart. He had been awake through most of it, howling in pain and terror and pleading to die, while the healers tried to reassure him they were being as gentle as they could be. Not once did he reflect during his ordeal that he had occasionally dealt far worse to his enemies. Above all, Sauron was a pragmatist; he eschewed torture for its own sake, relying on the enemy’s fear that it could happen, rather than him actually doing it. However, his hands were not clean. His torment in no way compensated for the suffering inflicted in his name upon the free peoples of Middle-earth and neither could it; what is more he knew it better than anyone.

 

The elves took him to Imladris shortly after. Sauron was terrified, fearing Lord Elrond above all other elves. He would know who he was, and would take great delight in wreaking his revenge, especially now he had lost most of his power; Sauron felt sure of it. Unable to read the resistant minds of the elves, he was useless at predicting how they would react when the truth was revealed; all he could do was guess. Therefore, he was mostly, but not completely, wrong about Elrond, who did not kill him, even though he deserved such a fate. Neither was Elrond unkind. Sauron did not make the mistake of thinking Elrond weak, he knew the elves were anything but; however, he was mystified and wondered at their lack of linear thinking.                  

 

Over the next few years, Elrond, together with Erestor, spent much time with Sauron, seeing him as a challenge rather than one to be held up to ridicule. Through their ministrations, Sauron’s body slowly recovered and his mind healed. Through much self-examination, guided and prompted by Elrond, and reinforced by Erestor, Sauron was able to seek out his suppressed feelings and the reasons for why he acted the way he did. It was often painful, but according to Elrond that was how one grew, and Sauron had a lot of that to do.

 

“Let us move on.” This would be Elrond’s last session. The next day he would make the journey west, eventually boarding a ship to Valinor, leaving Sauron uncertain of his future and at the mercy of the few elves who remained in the Homely House. “Would you have shared world domination with Morgoth?” Elrond asked softly, his voice never raised and always soothing to hear. “After all, you were the one who would have done the hard work, the planning, took the risks and made it all happen. The dangerous times were endured by you alone. Could you have shared your success?”

 

“Morgoth would not have shared,” Sauron said sadly. “He would have taken it all from me, and like a puppy I would have been content to eat the scraps from his table, never thinking twice about the actuality of the power I had lost and always seeking his approval. I doubt he would have trusted me with any high position, because to do so would mean acknowledging the role I played in securing his position as ruler.”

 

“If you had gained world domination on your terms, then you could rise against him at any time.” Elrond looked at the pathetic figure before him, his face showing no emotion. “Morgoth would know that. I doubt you would have lived for very long after handing him the prize.”

 

Sauron looked up thunderstruck, as if the scales that blinded his vision had suddenly fallen away. “It’s all so very simple, and yet that was something I never considered. He said he loved me and until now that was enough.”

 

“Surely you knew he was gone for good?” Elrond asked, a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You wreaked havoc for someone who had no chance of returning to you. Someone who would have seized power and killed you on the same day?”

 

“I couldn’t think otherwise. My heart would not let me.” Sauron bent his head down to his knees and breathed deeply.

 

“And now your heart is broken.” Elrond felt the waves of despair emanating from his captive. “Mine was broken when your orcs raped and abused my wife. She sailed because I could not cure her. My heart was torn to pieces, and it is still not intact. Neither are the hearts of my children. I live with that heartache every day, so it is fair that you too live with such grief.”

 

“I am sorry,” Sauron said, feeling shame enter his heart for the first time. “I did not always know what my orcs were doing, but I offer no excuses. It was my order that they kill elves in any way they pleased. I did not know they attacked your wife, so perhaps they were killed before they could report their movements. However, in all honesty I would not have punished them.” He hung his head down. “Do with me what you will. I deserve it.”

 

Elrond smiled. He looked at Erestor, who nodded in understanding of what Elrond was about to propose. He turned back to Sauron. “I have gone as far as I can with healing you, and you have come far. You can be Erestor’s slave. He will do to you as he likes and you will serve him. We have done our best to heal your fëar, not through any altruism on our part but because the free peoples of Middle-earth need the peace that healing you can bring.”

 

Sauron looked up. Erestor stood before him, a vision in skintight black leather, a cruel black spiked whip hanging from his belt and resting against his hip. Here was no gentle elf. Erestor’s reputation had reached Sauron’s ears many centuries before, while he still ruled with waves of terror. “Let me die,” he pleaded. He feared Erestor, who had never actually harmed him yet. But who was to know what would happen after Elrond sailed.

 

Erestor laughed. “I expect wishing for death will be a constant theme where you are concerned.” He fixed a steel collar around Sauron’s neck and attached a fine mithril connecting chain. Sauron did not dare to resist. His power was almost gone, and he was definitely no match for the beautiful elf with the cruel smile.

 

“Do with him as you please,” Elrond said before leaving the room. “He is your property from now on.”

 

Sauron had never felt more vulnerable in his life.

 

 


	11. The Book of Pyrates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Someone’s been here. It doesn’t feel right,”

 

Lindir and Lucy arrived at her apartment, which was situated in a fashionable block of flats above an arts centre, a nightclub with integrated radio station, two bars and a Japanese seafood restaurant. Seating areas and small gardens were arranged in such a way that the whole complex looked closed in, as if an island on its own amid a sea of city buildings.

 

“Someone’s been here. It doesn’t feel right,” Lucy said, turning the alarm system in the hall to standby. She opened the living room door, warily. “Nothing out of place here. I will look in the kitchen.”

 

Lindir was already looking in the other rooms. “Nothing in the bedroom or the bathroom,” he called to Lucy. He went back into the living room and saw Lucy holding an old leather bound book. “What’s that?”

 

“I found it on the kitchen counter, open at this page.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can you smell seaweed?”

 

Lindir nodded and took the book. “A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates’ by Captain Charles Johnson.” Lindir’s fingers opened the front of the book, while keeping the place where the pages were open. “It’s an old book, 1724, first edition, must be worth a lot. I didn’t know you were into pirates.”

 

“It’s not mine.” Lucy sighed. “I found it open on the kitchen counter. Someone has been in here and placed it there.”

 

Lindir opened the book at the page where it had lain open on the kitchen counter, showing a new chapter entitled ‘The Life of Captain Arrestar’. Lindir flipped through to the next chapter, which was headed ‘The Life of Captain Macalaurë.’ “Look at this!”

 

Lucy sat down and pulled Lindir to sit beside her.

 

“It’s only a woodcut, but doesn’t this picture of Macalaurë look like Maglor?” Lindir knew it was so, but Lucy did not need to know that.

 

“Maybe he is a distant ancestor,” Lucy suggested.

 

Lindir shrugged. “Could be.”

 

“Someone has definitely been in here.” Lucy stood up and looked around, as if expecting the intruder to jump out of a cupboard or wall unit. “I have no idea how they didn’t trip the alarm, but they must have done.”

 

Lindir had a different idea entirely about what might have happened, but said nothing to Lucy. “Come on. Sauron‘s barbecue won’t wait. You know what he is like. I swear he watches too many cookery programmes.”

 

“He could give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money, the way he swears in the kitchen,” Lucy giggled. “I can’t wait to see him again.” She walked through the front door and Lindir followed behind.

 

In the room he was invisible, but the mirror reflected the dread pirate, Arrestar. He smiled and faded into nothingness.

 


	12. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In front of him was a rubber chicken impregnated with catnip.

“Well?” Tom asked, his voice tinged with impatient boredom.

“It’s old enough,” Maglor muttered softly. “It feels right. I would say it was authentic.” The original letter written by the once Governor of Jamaica, Sir Nicholas Lawes, to King George I lay flat on the table before him.

“I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise,” Tom snapped, looking over Maglor’s shoulder. 

“I want to find out what happened to Arrestar.” Maglor sighed heavily. “His lover was Macalaurë, another pirate.”

“There is no evidence of that.” Tom seemed surprised Maglor would make such an assumption. “If there was I would know. I am writing a book about Calico Jack, so Arrestar is of interest to me. Unless you have evidence to the contrary?”

“The dread pirate, Macalaurë, is a distant relative of mine on my father’s side.” Maglor lied. “Family tradition maintained that he was more than friendly with Arrestar.”

“You never told me that before,” Tom said, his eyes suspicious. “Sometimes I think I do not know you at all.”

Maglor rose from his chair, leaving the letter on the table. “If you know everything about a person they can never surprise you.” He took Tom into his arms and kissed him, hard and deep. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“Surprise me some more.” Tom’s hand skimmed over the bulge in Maglor’s shorts. 

“What if I told you that I am going back to England soon and want you to come with me? There is evidence of a lost civilisation beneath the sea, about eight miles off the coast of Cornwall. Put your boat in dock and come with me. You haven’t had a holiday in years. Besides, there could be evidence of pirates there. There were certainly smugglers.”

“I am always on holiday,” Tom laughed. His fingers gripped Maglor’s shorts and swiftly pulled them down. “You are tempting me.”

“Come with me,” Maglor said softly as his cock sprang free. The eye was seeping clear fluid and ready to enter the darkest of places.

Maitimo looked on. He was surprised at Maglor asking Tom to join him and wondered how it would affect the outcome of his search for Erestor. He did not ponder for long. In front of him was a rubber chicken impregnated with catnip. His teeth sunk into the toy and he ran off with it. After settling on the back of the settee, under the bedroom cabin window, he chewed on the chicken’s head.


	13. Lindir's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Naughty boy,” she giggled. “You don’t want to embarrass Lindir.”

 

Lucy jumped into Sauron’s arms and kissed his lips. “I told you we wouldn’t be long.”

 

Sauron swung her around in his arms, his face alight with joy. “I missed you.” He kissed her, his tongue brushing her lips.

 

“Naughty boy,” she giggled. “You don’t want to embarrass Lindir.”

 

Lindir looked on. Gildor had been right; Sauron was Lucy’s lover. It was unfair that Lucy, a human, should have her heart broken. For break it, Sauron would. He would have no choice, because that was how it always was when an immortal fell in love with a human.

 

“I have a surprise for you,” Sauron said, his eyes gentle and awash with love. He gave her a padded box covered in black silk. The lid opened to reveal a diamond necklace sitting on a bed of white fur. Lindir wondered if it came from a cat.

 

Lucy gasped. “It is beautiful! You have spent too much money. Take it back and buy something cheaper, and spend the rest on yourself. This is too much to spend on me.”

 

“I refuse,” Sauron said graciously. “You are worth all the diamonds in the sky.”

 

‘Obviously newly in love,” Lindir thought.

 

The evening went well. All three watched the crowds milling around the stands and stalls next to the tall ships on the quayside. From the balcony, they had a better view of the ships. Sauron served barbecued fish and a selection of tapas, and crisps that he made himself. Lindir was not impressed; Gildor could make crisps as well.

 

At bedtime, when the crowds had more or less dissipated, Lucy went into Sauron’s bedroom and told him not to be long. She shut the door behind her. Lindir and Sauron continued to sit on the balcony.

 

“What?” Sauron asked. He felt Lindir's gaze upon him.

 

“Gildor said you were falling in love,” Lindir replied. “Erestor forbade it.”

 

“Erestor is dead.”

 

“Middle-earth has been found. Our time has come.”

 

Sauron looked chilled to the bone. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“Soon we will go home. You, me, Gildor, Maglor and any other elf left on this planet. The urge will be irresistible. Did Lord Námo not state that one day the sunken lands would rise and we would know our home once more?”

 

“They are ruins,” Sauron protested. “How can we live there?”

 

“I have no idea. All I know is that those who refuse to leave will die. Is it fair to love a human when either way you will have to leave her alone?”

 

“I will not lie to her.” Sauron stood up and sighed heavily. “I am going to bed now. Perhaps it would be better to stay here and die. At least I will be with one who loves me.”

 

“Selfish to the end,” Lindir said softly. “Gildor has ordered that you leave with me in the morning. He sent me up here to make sure you do. We can bring Lucy, that way you can say goodbye and she will not have any unanswered questions. We can accommodate a certain amount of change to the plan.”

 

“Because leaving to live in a set of ruins won’t make her wonder at all. Will it?” Sauron spat harshly. “There’s the front door. I don’t care where you go. Get out. You are not ruining my life.”

 

Lindir drew a dagger from his belt, Sauron wondered why he had not seen it before, and then he chided himself for doing so. Had Lindir not been the most accomplished assassin in Middle-earth? His disguise as a minstrel had been complete and fooled everybody, even him. Lindir was probably carrying a whole arsenal of weapons on his body and was cold-hearted enough to use them.

 

“I am going nowhere. You will leave with me tomorrow morning, or I will make you. If Gildor orders that you come home, then you do it. It’s as simple as that. Later on I will be going to Maglor's apartment. I may need some help, and I expect you to assist me if need be.”

 

Sauron stormed off through the bedroom door and slammed it shut. Lindir heard voices in the other room, mainly Sauron apologising for making Lucy jump at the loud noise. A short time later he heard the rhythmic sound of bedsprings. Sauron would be otherwise occupied for at least five minutes, Lindir thought. He decided to ring Gildor and let him know everything was going to plan.

 

 


	14. A Pirate's Wink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor winked at the cat...

 

Tom did not take much persuading to accompany Maglor and his cat, Maitimo, to England. The yacht was put into a month’s dock for servicing, cleaning, and storage. Travelling light, Tom would rely on Maglor lending him some clothing when they landed at Heathrow. He anticipated dismal weather and his expectations were fulfilled entirely. It was a typical British summer.

 

“I’m bloody freezing.” Tom shivered, watching Maglor open a suitcase containing his clothes. He snatched at the jumper and jeans Maglor offered him before running to the toilets to change. Maglor grinned, wondering how Tom managed when he visited his family in Shropshire every other Christmas. He had visions of him buying one set of clothing at the airport and wearing it throughout the season. Of course, that would not happen. Tom must have clothing at his parents’ house, but it amused Maglor to daydream that he might not.

 

Tom came out of the toilets warmer and happier than he was before. He slipped his arm around Maglor’s waist and smiled. “Where now? Paddington?”

 

“We’ll get a taxi. Can’t have you catching your death of cold.” Maglor pushed the trolley containing his suitcases towards the exit. Maitimo moved nearer to the back of the carrier, noting with some alarm that the rain was now pelting down, and he thought he might have heard a distant rumble of thunder.

 

They walked across the mutely shining floor to the outside. Tom breathed in the English night air and sighed. “I know why I don’t come home very often.” He watched the rain for a moment from under the shelter of the taxi rank. “Why is it always so bloody bleak here?”

 

“The taxi is here,” Maglor said, opening the door. “Stop complaining and get in.”

 

After driving through the London traffic, the taxi pulled up near Paddington Station. Maglor and Tom walked through the concourse lined with shops and cafés. They stopped at the ticket offices near to the railway platforms and bought two single tickets for the Night Riviera sleeper train, which was waiting at the platform, ready to leave in twenty minutes time.

 

The journey was uneventful. They travelled from London, through Devon and Cornwall, and would arrive in Penzance just before eight o’clock in the morning. Most of the time was spent sleeping, neither had much of it during the flight over from the Bahamas.

 

Maitimo, still sulking with Maglor, chose to sleep with Tom. When he looked at the dark window, he fancied that he saw a pirate with red and gold ribbons woven through his black hair peering in from the outside. Erestor winked at the cat before fading away, leaving nothing but the impenetrable dark of the moonless night.

 

 


	15. The Steel Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door to the safe was already ajar...

 

When Lindir was convinced that Sauron, and more importantly Lucy, were deep in sleep he left the apartment. He made his way across the city to a street of stucco fronted mansions, most of which had been converted into large apartments. Maglor’s flat was in a central mansion that was larger than the ones beside it. Lindir let himself in, using the spare key that Maglor had given to Sauron.

 

The flat covered the whole of the top floor. Above was a roof garden for Maglor’s exclusive use, which Lindir intended exploring after he had finished removing any evidence from the main rooms that might suggest a link to Middle-earth. Maglor had asked that Lindir double check, so that no future investigation could tie him in with the missing artefacts from Lyonesse, thus impeding him from making a new start elsewhere. In particular, there was a ring in the safe that only an elf could be trusted with. Maglor had not dared to wear it to the Bahamas, so Lindir was to collect it and take it back to Land's End, where it would be kept safe for him. Even if Maglor thought he might return, Lindir knew different. Maglor would never see his flat again.

 

Maglor had mentioned in his letters about finding an important ring among the collection of artefacts he had liberated from the university-sponsored exploration while diving off the coast of Land’s End. He was an eminent professor of archaeology, so it was not unusual for him to remove finds to study at his own leisure; that he sometimes omitted to give them back was neither here nor there, especially as most of the retained artefacts were not considered to be excessively valuable. However, the ring he had kept to himself, telling no one about it until now. Lindir knew that Elrond had given Vilya to Erestor; indeed, he had written to Gildor that the ring more or less jumped off his finger, as if intending to remain in Middle-earth. Both elves strongly suspected that Maglor’s find and Vilya were the same ring. It was supposed to be in the safe.

 

The door to the safe was already ajar. Someone had been here since Sauron had refused to loot the place. Inside the safe were a few minuscule fragments that appeared worthless to the untrained eye, and even then the most learned archaeologists might still not guess what they were looking at. A small part of the edge of a hair clip, a minute splinter of mithril, part of a crusted over hinge from a metal clasp, and a fragment of a gold flower petal, lay in a cotton wool padded box. Next to them was a faded ribbon; once coloured in red and gold. Lindir put them in a small leather holdall. A further sweep of the apartment yielded no result. He made his way to the roof garden and searched thoroughly, pulling out every single one of the rooftop plants before replacing them. He found nothing, so he went back into the apartment.

 

Lindir padded across the hardwood parquet floor without turning on the lights, seeing perfectly where a human could not. There was a draft from the fire escape door leading off the kitchen. One of the small window panels was smashed, next to the lock; the broken glass scattered across the floor. A tiny dried smear of blood stained one of the pieces. Lindir picked it up and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. Human.

 

Lindir dialled Sauron using Maglor’s phone.

 

“What?” Sauron barked.

 

“Maglor’s been burgled.”

 

“Yes, I know. I burgled him. You know I did.”

 

“No. He really has been burgled. The glass on the fire escape door has been smashed and there is a small smear of human blood on it. The safe is wide open.”

 

Sauron sighed. “I don’t know why I should help you.” He looked back at Lucy sleeping peacefully. “I will be over in a minute.” He wrote a note and taped it to the pillow after getting dressed. ‘Back soon. Lindir has requested my help in some venture. He is a bad house guest and needs a jolly good spanking!” He knew the note would amuse Lucy. It was no secret that when Gildor was pushed far enough he would spank Lindir. A fleeting memory of Erestor doing the same made Sauron grimace. He pushed the thought out of his mind as soon as it appeared. It made no difference to the elf watching him from the mirror. Erestor smiled, his lips as cruel as his face was beautiful, watching Sauron rear back in shock as he went to open the front door. Hanging from the coat rack was a steel collar attached to a fine mithril chain. For the first time in hundreds of years, tears fell from Sauron's eyes before he walked out into the night.

 

o0o0o0o

 

“I tell you, it was the same steel collar Erestor used to make me wear. He must be back from the dead.”

 

“Assuming he died in the first place,” Lindir replied, with a certain degree of sympathy.

 

Erestor had sought to turn Sauron away from evil; his methods were unusual, combining psychology with physical punishment, while exacting a stringent and harsh requirement of absolute obedience in mind and body. He could tell, as if one of the Valar had gifted him with the power of absolute insight, whether any rebellious thoughts ran parallel to the seemingly obedient actions of the body. One could obey without question, but if a single spark of disobedience presented itself in the mind he would know and punish accordingly. One positive result of Sauron's existence while in servitude to Erestor was that he had lost his ugliness, in mind as well as body, as well as the offensive odour that emanated from his body. As the evil left him, helped along by Erestor's forceful ministrations, Sauron became more like Aulendil, whom he once was.

 

Lindir sighed as Sauron looked at him. In Sauron’s mind, Gildor was equal to Erestor, presenting a more amicable nature, but one to be feared nonetheless. Of all those who had contact with Erestor, Gildor and Maglor were the only ones who could stand up to him. Maglor wasn't terribly good at it, but he did not need to be; Erestor loved him and that changed everything.

 

“It’s a warning. I know it is.” Sauron’s breath was harsh and ragged. “I would rather die than go back to him again. He was just...awful.”

 

“So were you,” Lindir said simply. “Erestor taught you how to be the person you are today. Because of him you have compassion for others, and, more importantly, for yourself. He is just an elf, made of flesh and blood, like all of us. I always got along well with him.”

 

“You were not his. Anyway, you do not know the things he did to me...”

 

“I am sure I do not,” Lindir said consolingly, reflecting that if the elves of thousands of years ago could see Sauron now they would be amazed and astonished. “Now, what do you think of this smear of blood?”

 

Sauron sniffed the blood stained glass. “George.”

 

“He is a bit brave,” Lindir remarked. “I’m surprised. Lucy told me he gets others to do his dirty work for him.”

 

“He pays only me,” Sauron said proudly. He smiled for the first time since arriving. “He daren’t use anyone else. Last time he tried I broke his fingers.”

 

“Let’s pay him a visit.” Lindir grinned.

 

“I am going to enjoy this.”

 


	16. Land's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t like him much. Do you?” Gildor laughed.

“I love you.” Maglor heard the words whispered into his ear. A thrill of sensation washed through his being, as if a strand of gossamer had stroked deep inside him and the feeling multiplied a thousand times, radiating outwards and making his skin shiver with delight.

 

Tom was fast asleep, but Maitimo was watching him. Anyway, the voice had not belonged to Tom, but to someone else entirely. The guard knocked at the door and announced that the train was drawing into Penzance station, breakfast would be served soon if they wanted it.

 

Maglor and Tom caught a taxi from outside Penzance Railway Station, which took them to Land’s End, pulling up outside Gildor and Lindir’s cottage.

 

“Nice spot for a holiday,” the taxi driver said as Maglor paid him.

 

“I am hoping to do some surfing,” Maglor replied. Tom rolled his eyes at the lie; Maglor could not surf to save his life.

 

The taxi drove off, while they made their way up the flower-lined path.

 

Gildor opened the door before they could knock and quickly hugged them both. “Come in and get warm. The weather is unusually cold for this time of the year. By the way, Lucy delivered your cases.”

 

“The Bahamas has much better weather than here,” Maglor said as he accepted a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

 

“Too right,” Tom muttered as he sipped from his mug. “It’s so bloody cold my balls have turned to ice.”

 

“Lucky we have heating then,” Gildor said, while releasing Maitimo from his cage. “Maglor, Lindir said that the ring isn’t in your safe. George, your boss, employed Sauron to break into your apartment and steal it, but all he did was watch anime and drink a bottle of wine, which he has offered to replace with one from Tesco’s. So, Sauron hasn’t taken it, which leaves George.”

 

“I haven't been completely honest with you," Maglor said with a sigh. "When I asked for Lindir to collect the ring from the safe, I knew George might have stolen it before he could get there. I also knew that Lindir would track him down and deal justice accordingly. If it’s gone from my safe then George will definitely have it. He has stolen enough from me over the past few years and tried to besmirch my name several times, while making out he knew nothing about the accusations. I set the safe to the first four digits of my phone number; he isn’t intelligent enough to think any further than that. I also hinted that I had a safe set in the wall that no one could open.”

 

“Thus ensuring that he would try.” Gildor shook his head. “You would think the dean of a university would show a bit more savvy than that, but I guess each to his own.”

 

“He is learned in his own subject but remarkably stupid in all others,” Maglor said, grinning widely. “I knew he would try something like that, so I took the opportunity of setting him up.”

 

“He got the Dean’s job because he allowed one of the selection committee to shag his arse. Everybody knows he did, even though he denied it. It helped too that he went to Oxford. He was in my year,” Tom said. He wiped chocolate from his lips. “This is lovely. Just what I needed.”

 

“I put a shot of rum in it.” Gildor took a sip of his own chocolate and licked his lips as if a satisfied and well fed cat. He dipped his finger in the chocolate drink and let Maitimo lap at it.

 

“When I catch a cold I put whiskey in my tea. It works if you put enough in.” Tom took another mouthful. “Anyway, George was a twat then and he is still one now. He gives my arse an headache.”

 

“You don’t like him much. Do you?” Gildor laughed.

 

“I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He is as bent as a nine bob note.”

 

Maglor nodded in agreement. “He will have the ring. You can bet your life on it.”

 

 


	17. George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You see how delicious your predicament is?"...

 

“Ow!” George was terrified. Two men loomed over him, armed with knives and other instruments. His young wife, barely out of childhood and married to a man at least twice her age, was tied up and sitting in the bathroom next door, not daring to move. Lindir had assured her that she would not be harmed if she stayed silent. He said she was an innocent, married to a very bad man. That had not stopped her pleading for them both before they gagged her, nor the tears. Not once had George asked that they spare his wife, a fact that she was more than aware of whilst listening to what was happening in the next room.

 

“You stole Maglor's ring,” Sauron snarled. “Where is it?”

 

“It’s not his ring. The university owns it. Our diving team recovered it, so it belongs here.”

 

Sauron backhanded George’s face. “It’s not your ring either.”

 

George could not move. The rope binding him was too tight to give him any purchase to wriggle. Lindir soaked a wad of cotton wool in alcohol and tore it into eight pieces before wedging a piece between each toe.

 

“What are you doing?” George panicked, knowing that Lindir was not about to paint his toenails.

 

“I am going to set fire to your toes, one wad of cotton wool at a time.”

 

“It’s what he deserves,” Sauron said, as if he felt some sort of underlying sympathy. In the bathroom, George’s wife gasped through her gag.

 

George begged for his life. As the first wodge of cotton wool burnt, he screamed and writhed, promising them anything to make the pain stop.

 

“It is rather disappointing that you have no staying power,” Sauron sighed, as he removed the flaming cotton wool.

 

“I thought you were my friend,” George pleaded, knowing in his heart that he had always despised Sauron, and he knew it.

 

“Good grief! I wonder why you would think that. It’s not as though we frequent the same social circles. Is it?” Sauron chuckled and shook his head. “No, you must never think that I am your friend. That would be a bad mistake to make.”

 

George’s eyes widened in terror. “You are going to kill me. Aren’t you? I know what you look like and that means...” Sauron backhanded his face again. In the background, George’s wife started moaning again, a low-pitched sound of animal distress. Lindir felt quite sorry for her.

 

“Tell us where the ring is,” Lindir demanded. He held the lighter to a wad of cotton wool on the other foot. “Surely you do not want your wife to suffer further.”

 

“She’s not the one who is suffering. I am.” George glared, in a last bid at defiance. The flame grew nearer. “No, no, no...I will tell you where it is.” Lindir removed the lighter from the cotton wool. “It’s in my wife’s jewellery box.” His eyes dropped and he sighed. “In the safe.”

 

“Open it,” Lindir commanded.

 

Sauron poked his flick-knife under George’s chin. “No pissing around, or I will gut you like a fish.”

 

With Lindir's help, George hobbled over to a picture on the bedroom wall. He carefully removed it to reveal a small safe hidden behind a wallpapered panel. Sauron joined him as soon as the safe was opened.

 

“Bring everything over here,” Lindir ordered as he cut the ties on George's wrists.

 

“You said you just wanted the ring,” George protested.

 

“DO IT!” Lindir glared, while Sauron smiled benevolently.

 

“It’s best not to upset him. Who knows where his temper might lead. He is worse than me.”

 

George took everything from the safe, leaving it bare. Sauron accompanied him back to where Lindir sat.

 

“So here is the ring,” Lindir said, his lips smiling. “This is the ring you stole from Maglor."

 

“I took it to display in the museum,” George protested.

 

“Which is why it resides in your wife’s jewellery box,” Sauron retorted.

 

Lindir went to the bathroom. “Maria, I am going to release your legs. You will come into the bedroom and hear what your husband has been up to. Any attempt to thwart us and we will slit your tongue and cut off your nose. Understand?” George’s wife nodded, her eyes wet and terrified. Lindir's knife cut through the ties and he helped her stand up before taking her into the bedroom. He indicated a chair. “Sit there and do not move.”

 

“This is not the only find you have taken for yourself. Is it? In the past you stole other artefacts from excavations headed by Maglor. He had no evidence, but knew it was you.” Sauron was enjoying himself; it felt like old times. “We are only interested in the finds you took from Lyonesse. You see; they are ours. We are the original owners. We will have them.”

 

“How could you own them?” George scorned. “They are thousands of years old.”

 

“So are we,” Lindir said, his lips curving in a slight smile. “However, I believe Maglor has a more immediate grudge against you; he hates theft, especially where it concerns him. Incidentally, he was the one who set you up. He knew that if he left the ring in his safe, you would try to steal it.”

 

Sauron continued for Lindir. “Years ago, you stole finds from Maglor’s excavations. You also arranged an anonymous tip off to the police saying that Maglor was stealing the recovered artefacts to deflect attention from yourself. All the while, they were being offered in secret to buyers, who did not care about the legality of how they were obtained, just that they owned them. There was no material evidence to convict Maglor, which is the only reason he did not go to court. All the while you made out to be his friend, offering sympathy while seeming to defend him against the slurs cast upon him by his peers. Mud sticks. Maglor could not work anywhere else except in your university because he had lost his credibility. Therefore you were free to continue your stealing from his further excavations.”

 

“That makes you a bad person,” Lindir said brightly.

 

“You made sure that Maglor got some really good excavations. He noticed that when you attended digs something would go missing. Something tiny, preferably intact, and apparently waiting to be catalogued. He kept a record of everything that was taken. Unbeknownst to you, he told you that artefacts were not catalogued when they were, so he has a record of all that was stolen.”

 

George’s face exploded in red anger. “This is only hearsay. None of it will stand up in court. They are more likely to arrest Maglor. He stole the finds, not me. I told him to stop and he refused to listen. Well, I will not shelter him anymore.”

 

Lindir grabbed George’s hair with savage intensity. “We have you on film stealing the finds, you lying fucker. We also have a list of who you sold them to, including copies of receipts. Maglor set you up; he knows many of the buyers personally. You sold to elves, you fuckwit.” He turned to Maria. “This is the sort of man your husband is.”

 

“Elves? There is no such thing as elves.” George looked incredulous. Sauron and Lindir ignored him.

 

“You may want to distance yourself from him,” Sauron said to her. “He is nothing but a small time crook involved in affairs too big for him to handle.” Maria’s eyes widened.

 

“Maglor bided his time, but with the theft of this ring, which is on his apartment’s CCTV, you are sunk. You will now know what it was like for Maglor. He is not coming back, by the way. He has enough evidence to sink you, and that is what he is doing right now.” Lindir lied about the CCTV, but was satisfied by the look on George’s face that he believed he had been filmed.

 

“He went to the Bahamas,” George said weakly.

 

“Yes, and then he came back again," Sauron said with a smirk..

 

“You cannot even go to the police and tell them what we have done,” Lindir said merrily. “If you do they will start asking awkward questions. Although, a part of me hopes that you are stupid enough to try.” He looked at Maria. “You could go to the police, but I fear you might be tarred with the same brush, simply because you knew the ring was an artefact from an excavation and because you were running a deception of your own. We have evidence that George ‘enhanced’ your Masters essays, and you certainly wouldn’t have the job you have now if it were not for his influence.”

 

Maria looked defeated. She said nothing when Lindir removed the gag from her mouth.

 

“You can keep the rest of the artefacts. We were only interested in the ring,” Lindir said as he held it up to the light.

 

“How can Maglor be the rightful owner?” George asked. “You are talking out of your arse and you know you are.”

 

“Feeling brave?” Sauron asked menacingly, picking at his nails with the thin bladed knife.

 

“Just asking.” George put his head down, while his wife told him to shut up.

 

“Ah yes. I did not know for certain until this moment.” Lindir sat next to George, holding his hand aloft. “See how the stone twinkles as if it has an inner life of its own? On your finger the stone would appear dead, but on an elven finger it comes to life. Legend says that it grew dim, but it has retained enough light for its final purpose. I remember when Elrond wore this ring; it could light up a whole valley. Maglor risked losing it, because his need for vengeance was greater than fulfilling ancient prophecy.”

 

“I could have sold it on before you came here,” George said roughly.

 

“You would have to find a buyer first,” Sauron retorted. “Anyway, if it wasn’t here we would have found out where it was. You would have told us.” George felt a deeply unpleasant chill race down his spine.

 

“Without this ring we cannot go home.” Lindir held it up to the light again. “This ring is Vilya. Lord Elrond gave it to Lord Erestor before leaving Imladris at the end of the Third Age to sail to Valinor. Maglor was Erestor’s partner, so he inherited the ring when Erestor died. So, you see, the ring is not yours at all, neither does it belong to the university.”

 

“This is madness,” George spat. “You take the ring and I can call the police in. I will sink Maglor. He will regret ever...”

 

“Shut up, George,” Maria shouted at him. “They are right. We can’t do a damned thing. You told me the ring was mine! You were going to sell it. Weren’t you?”

 

George nodded miserably, but jumped as Sauron held the knife to his throat. “This is a warning. You say anything and I will come back and kill you. Half of me is hoping you do. I will enjoy killing a piece of scum like you.”

 

Prickles of cold sweat accompanied George's fear. “I won’t say a thing,” he gasped. “I promise. I won’t say anything.” Sauron released George’s head and put the knife away.

 

Sauron and Lindir left the apartment. Through the window, George and Maria watched them get into a car and drive off.

 

“Right, let’s get our story straight and then we will ring the police.” George untied his wife’s wrists.

 

“Look, they didn't hurt us. If we ring the police they will come back,” Maria protested. “You heard them. Besides, you are not treating me like this. You didn't once consider me when they were here. Not once did you ask them not to harm me. I am going back to live at my mum's. I want nothing more to do with you. Don't even talk to me in work.”

 

“Don't be silly. You are nothing without me,” George barked; they had argued about staying together before. His eye caught something in the mirror set on the door of the wardrobe. George stared, curious and horrified at the same time. Looking out was a man dressed as a pirate.

 

“How dare you! Who the hell do you think you are talking to?” Maria yelled. The wardrobe door opened slightly and she saw the pirate in the mirror. "What the...?" She jumped behind George, who stood rigid, frozen in fear.

 

Erestor stepped into the room. His hair was woven with ribbons of red and gold and seemed to move in a non-existent wind. A diamond earring, fashioned from the Infanta's stolen wedding ring, twinkled in one ear. He smiled at them, his warm blue eyes at odds with his cruel lips. He moved towards them. His hand reached around George's petrified form, and gently touched Maria's forehead. “Sleep.”

 

Maria fell back on the bed. George’s mouth continued to hang open.

 

“I am Erestor. You stole from Macalaurë. You also blackened his name." Erestor's lips curved upwards in a superior yet slight smile. "Macalaurë is mine and I do not take slights against him lightly. Your punishment will be everlasting.”

 

George quickly gathered his wits together and tried to protest. "Who the hell is Macalaurë, and who the hell do you think you are? This is a private residence, so get out." He picked his mobile up to call the police.

 

Erestor laughed. Chills flew down George's spine. Erestor took the phone, which had already connected to the 999 coordinator and dropped it on the cream coloured carpet. "I will tell you this because it amuses me to do so. The look of realisation on your face will be too delicious." All trace of amusement left Erestor's face. "I am the dread pirate, Arrestar. You have heard of me. Indeed, I am world famous."

 

"You can't be Arrestar. He is dead," George spluttered, although even he knew that reflections in mirrors did not just jump out and announce themselves. The voice from the mobile phone on the carpet urgently requested that the caller should speak.

 

"Whereas Macalaurë is not dead. He continues to live."

 

"What the hell are you talking about?" George was stalling, he hoped the emergency services would attend. After all they had to respond to silent phone calls just in case the person was unable to speak, didn't they? Surely a ghost could not hurt him, and yet Arrestar had made his wife swoon; she was still unconscious.

 

"MAGLOR!"

 

"Oh."

 

"You see how delicious your predicament is? Your wife will awake a free woman and you will never be found."

 

"What?" George looked confused, but not for long. Erestor backhanded him across the face, causing a temporary lapse of consciousness. From Erestor's point of view, it helped that George hit his head against a chest of drawers; he would not be waking any time soon. Erestor fixed a collar around George's neck, gripped hold of the metal, and dragged him through the mirror.

 

Maria woke up alone. She picked the phone up and turned it off.

 

 

 


	18. Gildor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Erestor has found me."

 

"Lucy." Sauron nudged her until she woke. "Did you miss me?"

 

"Where did you go?" Lucy propped herself up on one elbow and leant down to kiss Sauron's lips. He lay next to her looking incredibly pleased with himself.

 

"Lindir went to Maglor's place and found he had been burgled. When he rang me I decided to go and help him."

 

"Poor Maglor. Have they taken much?" Lucy frowned. "You were very brave . The burglars might have still been there. You could have been hurt."

 

"Lindir was there before me..."

 

"Lindir can look after himself," Lucy retorted. "You are the one I am concerned about." Lucy watched unamused as Sauron laughed. "I don't know why you think it's so funny."

 

"Come here," Sauron replied affectionately.

 

In the second bedroom Lindir lay awake. Lenin lay curled up under the duvet next to his hip, while Trotsky busily sniffed and licked the crook of his neck.

 

The bed next door was banging against the wall again. Lindir sighed. Eventually he fell asleep.

 

Meanwhile, the police were visiting George's house. They traced the call via the GPS on his mobile phone. Maria told them that a man dressed as a pirate had knocked her unconscious. When she awoke, her husband was missing and there was no sign of the pirate. An ambulance took her to hospital, accompanied by the police who wanted to question her about the assault and robbery as soon as she was able to give them answers.

 

Early the next morning Lindir, Sauron and Lucy, plus the two cats, left his house and went to her apartment. She packed a couple of suitcases and Sauron took them down to the car, putting them in the boot next to his own luggage.

 

It took just over nine hours to drive down to Cornwall. They stopped at two service stations on the way down and ate burgers from MacDonald's both times, thus making Lindir very happy. Gildor never allowed him to eat any burgers but homemade; he did not approve of 'junk food' or the effects it had on Lindir's digestion.

 

They arrived just after eight in the evening. Gildor, Maglor and Tom met them at the gate to the cottage garden.

 

"Hello again," Gildor called merrily. "Dinner is ready. We have good food, good friends, and good wine." Sauron was the last to go inside. Gildor joined him as he walked up the path. "I am glad you are here."

 

"Not through choice," Sauron mumbled.

 

"You knew our time would come." Gildor was sympathetic. He liked living in Cornwall, enjoying a life of comfortable domesticity with Lindir. Their relationship was harmonious, for the most part, and far removed from the uncertainty that had been a feature of their lives over the thousands of years they had been together. "If it is any consolation, Lindir and I are not looking forward to the change that is coming, but there is little we can do about it. Better to go on our own terms than be forced."

 

"I am being forced," Sauron said grimly. "I love Lucy."

 

"I know." Gildor put his arm around Sauron's shoulders.

 

"Even if I found a way to evade Lindir I would have still ended up here." Sauron looked as if he was wounded. "Erestor has found me." Sauron bit his lip and hesitated before speaking again. "The collar he used to make me wear was hanging from the coat rack in my hall."

 

"You are stronger now." Gildor opened the front door and ushered Sauron inside. "You are not weak anymore. When Erestor died you stopped being his slave. You do not have to go back to that role."

 

"I ran away hundreds of years before he died, that's if he is dead. All the while I lived in fear. You do not know the things he did to me."

 

"It was to teach you a lesson. You think of him as the elves thought of you. Because of Erestor, you know intimately the terror felt by the free races in Middle-earth when you were at your worst." Gildor smiled as he drew Sauron over to the drinks cupboard. "The lesson is over. Erestor cannot make you his slave unless you let him." He poured a drink into a small glass. "Have some ginger wine. It warms the belly and gladdens the heart."

 

They went into the kitchen and Gildor introduced Sauron and Lucy to Tom. It was good to have friends and family sitting down together. Maitimo, Lenin and Trotsky were busy eating from a plate of fish scraps and the guests, more family really, were sitting at the table and drinking wine. Through the window, Gildor could see the sun setting on the sea. He lit several candles and put them on the large farmhouse style wooden table. In the next field, a few tents had gone up during the day. Gildor watched their occupants staring out to sea.

 

 


	19. Burgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor looked up at the ceiling and grinned. "He lasted for ten."

 

"Is everything all right?" Lucy asked as Sauron took his seat at the table.

 

What could he answer. How does one tell a new love that they are a Maia, when they have no concept of any race but human. Sauron was not brave enough to face Lucy's common sense, and so he said what she wanted to hear. "Everything's fine." He smiled, his eyes trying not to show anything other than happiness. "Gildor wanted to see me about something."

 

"I suppose we should have asked him if it was all right to come down for an impromptu holiday. I was so pleased you suggested it. I love it down here." Lucy held Sauron's hand tight and smiled, her eyes filled with love.

 

"Did you get any trouble off George after I left?" Maglor asked Lucy. Gildor placed a huge platter of freshly cooked seafood in the middle of the table and invited everyone to tuck in.

 

"Shortly after you left his office he went out and made a call to someone. Other than that he said nothing at all." Lucy took a prawn from the seafood platter and pulled the head off. "I am glad to get away from there. This is the first day of my holiday and I get to spend it in a lovely place with wonderful friends."

 

"Maglor coughed up a baby sprat when we were on my boat." Tom announced. "I am sure his cat laughed at him."

 

"He sneers at me most of the time," Maglor said, shaking his head. "When he is not scratching me."

 

Lindir did not look well. There was a reason Gildor did not allow him to eat burgers from fast food restaurants; his stomach simply could not take fatty food in anything but small quantities. Gildor had no idea why this was, after all most elves could eat anything they wanted. All he knew was that Lindir loved fatty food and frequently suffered afterwards.

 

"How many burgers did you have?" Gildor asked softly. Lindir shot him a look of surprise, not expecting him to know what he had eaten. Lucy and Sauron had not told Gildor either.

 

"There was nothing else to eat. We stopped at service stations and they only had MacDonald's there." Lindir picked miserably at a mussel.

 

"Really?" Gildor asked. "Are you absolutely sure? You couldn't have stopped at a pub restaurant, maybe?"

 

"Stop going on," Lindir whined. The others at the table politely ignored them and carried on eating and talking. "I feel bad enough without you going on at me."

 

"Are you going to be sick?" Gildor asked pleasantly.

 

Lindir's face lost its colour. He hurriedly pushed back his chair and ran out of the kitchen, holding one hand to his mouth. The dinner guests listened as the front door flew open and Lindir retched.

 

"Lucky you do not have any neighbours," Maglor remarked before picking up a lobster tail.

 

"I had better go and see if he is all right." Gildor grinned as he left the table. "I hope he hasn't made too much of a mess in the garden. If he has he can clean it up."

 

The diners continued to eat from the platter. In the distance they heard Gildor telling the cats to stop eating the vomit and get back inside the cottage. Then they heard Gildor telling Lindir to go upstairs with him. It was time for a conversation. Most of the diners knew what was coming next.

 

"What have I told you about eating greasy foods?" Gildor sat on the side of the bed. He patted his hand to the side, indicating that Lindir should sit beside him.

 

"Not to eat them."

 

"And why?"

 

"Because my stomach cannot tolerate greasy food." Lindir hung his head and mumbled. "It makes me feel ill and I vomit." He leant forward and put his head in between his knees. "I felt all right after the first burger. I think it was the second one."

 

"You had two?"

 

Lindir nodded. "Yes I did and I enjoyed them. I thought after the first one I would be all right."

 

"Poor Lindir," Gildor said, putting his arm around his shoulder. "Last time you did this you had to stand in the corner with your hands on your head. Didn't you?" Lindir nodded. "You obviously did not learn from it, so I am going to spank you. Perhaps a few hours of feeling sore will impress on your memory why you are not to eat junk food."

 

"No matter how much you spank me, I will still eat burgers," Lindir retorted, a trace of defiance in his voice. "Even if it does make me sick."

 

Gildor stood up and went over to the ottoman at the end of the bed. He retrieved a stiff leather paddle and sat back down. "Pull your trousers down."

 

"I have just been sick. How can you do this while I am ill?" Lindir asked, almost pleading as he unbuckled his belt. He unzipped the fly and loosened the waist, waiting for Gildor to do the rest.

 

Gildor pulled Lindir's trousers down to his knees before guiding him over his lap. "I hardly ever paddle your arse. Do you know why I am doing it now?"

 

"Because you get off on it?" Lindir retorted, feeling he had nothing to lose now he was already in position. He could feel Gildor's hand resting on his back.

 

"You have just earned yourself another ten. Now answer my question." Lindir always ended up with more; he just couldn't help himself.

 

"Another ten! That's not fair!"

 

Gildor placed his hand on Lindir's squirming cheeks. "Calm down. It's going to happen anyway, so you might as well answer my question."

 

"Because I ate two burgers."

 

"Because of your lies. Not just today but over the past few months. No matter how much we discuss your behaviour, you carry on thinking that I do not know half the things you get up to. I will not let you indulge in self-destructive behaviours and I also care enough to make sure we do not lie to one another. I suspect you thought I would not do anything because we have company, but you know me better than that." All the time Gildor's hand stroked Lindir's lower back. "I love you so much. Is the temptation to lie so great that you cannot resist? If so, tell me. I would rather you were honest with me. You do not keep lies to yourself very well. They eat away at you until you can bear them no longer, and then you do something like eating two burgers to bring everything to a head."

 

Lindir nodded and his body relaxed. "I don't know why I do it. Perhaps I do it because at some subconscious level I desire this."

 

"It would be better if you did not. If you desire it that much I am quite happy to give you a spanking without you lying to me beforehand." Gildor suppressed his laughter. He knew better than anyone how Lindir thought.

 

"You sound like Erestor."

 

" I was the one who taught him, as you well know, but I think you would rather I dealt with your behaviour than him."

 

"He is dead."

 

"Apparently so." Gildor picked up the paddle and smacked it across Lindir's cheeks, causing him to jump. Lindir gritted his teeth, determined not to cry out. Each slap of the paddle shot a bolt of burning pain through his skin, deep into the muscle. Before he could recover another one was delivered. As each slap of the paddle hit his bare skin the pain intensified. In the end he would cry out, he always did.

 

Downstairs the guests listened.

 

"How many whacks before Lindir yells?" Maglor tittered. All of them could hear the paddle slapping.

 

"Why does Lindir let Gildor spank him?" Lucy asked.

 

"It's how they live their life," Sauron told her. "They don't hurt anyone, and, if you ask me, sometimes Lindir deserves a spanking."

 

"Gildor treats him like a kid." Lucy was unimpressed with the explanation.

 

"Lindir is a willing partner. He has boundaries that he must not cross. If he does there are consequences. That is an integral part of their relationship."

 

"But Gildor is spanking him," Lucy said.

 

"That's part of it," Sauron replied. "In fact, Lindir hasn't been spanked for a long while. Gildor tolerates a lot before he swings into action."

 

"Have you considered that Lindir pushes Gildor until he is spanked?" Maglor asked. "I have seen him do it many times. He pushes Gildor until he has no option but to spank him. If Gildor does not react, Lindir's behaviour worsens until he does."

 

"Why would he do that?" Lucy was not convinced.

 

"Because Lindir gets something out of it as well," Sauron answered. "He is totally into this lifestyle, not that I understand how he can be. Everyone to his own though."

 

Maglor looked up at the ceiling and grinned. "He lasted for ten."

 

Gildor carried on smacking Lindir's bottom with the paddle. Each slap of the paddle added to the previous pain, and shocked through Lindir's whole body. He tried to resist expressing any sounds, so that the guests downstairs could not hear him. He did not know Tom very well, even though he had met him before on a couple of occasions, and Lucy had never heard Gildor disciplining him. In the end, he could not stop himself and he cried out to Gildor to stop.

 

It took another twenty slaps with the paddle before Gildor put it down. He pulled Lindir up and held onto him, holding him tight and rubbing his back. Lindir's body went limp and he said nothing. His cheeks were wet, and he buried his face in Gildor's chest, breathing huge gulps of air before calming down.

 

"Does your stomach feel settled enough for you to go downstairs and eat some dinner?" Gildor held him close, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head.

 

"I still feel sick. I don't think I will be though." Lindir felt relieved. It was over. He felt safe and back within his comfort zone again. It was not just the burgers, but a whole host of small things piling on top of each other until the load became unbearable, the fact that Lindir had put most of them there himself was not something he was willing to consider. The burgers were merely the catalyst to make Gildor act.

 

"Would you like something light? You could eat a baguette maybe?"

 

Lindir shook his head. "I don't want to be sick again."

 

"I doubt the next course will make you feel ill. You can have a small portion to start with, just in case."

 

Lindir gave Gildor a slight smile. "Well, I am hungry."

 

"Come on then." They stood up, and Gildor took Lindir's hand. "I will make you some ginger tea to settle your stomach."

 

"I feel embarrassed. Tom and Lucy..."

 

"Everything will be fine," Gildor reassured him. "If anything, Sauron would have taken great enjoyment explaining our lifestyle, so they will all know what is going on. More importantly, they will know why."

 

Lindir sighed, but said nothing more. He went down the stairs with Gildor and rejoined the guests.

 


	20. The Wills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It doesn't make it any easier," Tom said softly as the full impact of what the elves were telling him hit home.

"I have something important to announce," Gildor said as they ate dessert. "I am an elf, as indeed are Maglor and Lindir. Sauron, to all intents and purposes, is one too."

 

Tom and Lucy did not seem impressed. Lucy laughed and stated outright that there was no such thing as an elf.

 

"We have pointed ears," Sauron said softly, "and we never die, unless we are killed. We appear young and never age."

 

"That would explain Maglor not looking older," Tom said, shaking his head.

 

"Very soon we will be going back to our homeland after thousands of years of exile, and leave this place forever." Gildor looked at Lucy. "If we do not go, we will die. The prophecy states that those who do not return will be given the gift of men."

 

"What is the gift of men?" Lucy asked, her face flushed as she looked accusingly at Sauron.

 

"Death," Gildor replied.

 

"If I stay here you will watch me die. If I leave when the call comes you will watch me leave. Either way, you will not be with me." Sauron took Lucy's hand, but she shook it away angrily. "I did not know until yesterday that we were to return. Two days ago I intended asking you to marry me. You would have grown older while I remained the same, yet I would have still loved you."

 

"So why am I here?" Tom asked.

 

"Because you will write about what happened," Maglor replied. "You always want answers to questions and now you will have them. Plus, you will have a world exclusive on the pirates Arrestar and Macalaurë."

 

"I had no questions until you came out with this load of bollocks," Tom snapped."I have already told you that there is hardly any evidence, other than hearsay, about them. All we know is that they existed and where they lived. There are hardly any contemporary accounts..."

 

"Because Arrestar and Macalaurë forbade it."

 

"As if they could!"

 

Maglor took Vilya from his pocket and put it on his finger before laying his hand flat on the table. "This ring is Vilya, The Ring of Air. Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, forged three elven rings; the others are not of this land anymore, but this one remains. The stone is blue, as is the colour of the sky. To avoid the eye of the great deceiver, Annatar, Celebrimbor sent the ring to King Gil-Galad for safe keeping. He gave this ring to Lord Elrond, who used it to keep his realm hidden from the eye of the evil one. Later, after the Ring War, Vilya was passed to Lord Erestor. She gradually lost her light and became a plain, ordinary ring. One day it slipped from Erestor's finger. Even though he searched he could not find it. The ring fitted any finger and if it wanted to become lost it could. When Vilya was found in the excavations I took it. I was Erestor's partner, so it became mine by right."

 

Sauron bristled but said nothing. He wondered when the elves would ever shut up about being deceived by him. The others listened spellbound.

 

"When the last ship sailed from Middle-earth to Valinor, Lord Námo prophesied that one day all the elves would return. Those that refused would be given the gift of men and immediately know death. Their fëa would travel beyond the circles of the world and be lost to us forever more. I do not know what lies beyond the circles of the world and I have no desire to find out."

 

"I don't believe any of this," Lucy announced. She looked at Sauron. "There are more believable ways of breaking up with someone." She rose from the table. "I am going back home." She tried to leave the room, head held high, but Sauron caught her, holding her close.

 

"I am sorry," he whispered in her ear.

 

"Get off me!" Lucy struggled, so Sauron let her go, but not before Maglor had taken her hand. He touched her forehead with Vilya and watched as her eyes widened. The ring glowed, illuminating her face and creating a sea of sparkles in her eyes and the tears that fell from them.

 

"Vilya heals," Maglor told her. "It may also reveal that which is hidden. Or it may not."

 

Lucy stood unmoving, mesmerised. The ring dimmed and Maglor let go of her hand. She sat back down looking deflated.

 

"Are you all right?" Lindir asked.

 

"I am fine," Lucy replied. She glared at Sauron. "The ring showed me who you really are. I loved you, but I didn't even know who you were. When were you going to tell me? There can be no future for me with one like you."

 

"I am not that person anymore," Sauron replied quietly. He accepted that he had to leave and Vilya had made the goodbye easier, but it rankled with him that Lucy would not hold him as a fond memory.

 

"I can attest to the fact that Sauron is not the person he once was," Gildor said quickly.

 

"As can I," Maglor followed.

 

"Erestor cured him of his evil." Lindir picked up his spoon, breathed on it, then shined it on his jumper. Gildor took the spoon off him and put it back on the table.

 

"It makes no difference," Lucy said defiantly.

 

"So be it," Sauron said with a heavy sigh. "I wish it was not so. It seems my past will forever be a millstone around my neck."

 

"Never mind," Lindir said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice as he smirked. "Maybe the elves in Valinor will have forgotten who you once were."

 

"Do you want to stand in the corner with your hands on your head?" Gildor asked. Lindir nodded sulkily. "This is not easy for Sauron. He has lived an exemplary life since Erestor, but there is no redemption for him simply because the elves refuse to forget. Elves like you, who think it amusing to bring up the past from time to time."

 

Maglor rose from the table. He went to one of the suitcases and took out a white paper package. Placing it before Tom, he asked him to open it. Inside were two journals, one written by Arrestar and the other by Macalaurë when they lived in Jamaica; two red and gold ribbons attached to a skull and crossbones clasp; a fragile looking jolly roger flag with the monogram A&M in the corner, three gold doubloons, each with a hole above the cross; a gold and diamond earring, which seemed to be fashioned from a wedding band; and a dagger with Arrestar' carved on the blade. "The two journals speak for themselves. The ribbons and clasp are the ones Arrestar wove into his hair. This earring is the one from the history books which say that..."

 

"It was fashioned from the stolen wedding ring commissioned for the Spanish Infanta." Tom looked up, his eyes excited. "The legend was true. Here it is. I cannot believe I am holding his actual earring."

 

Maglor continued. "Arrestar wore gold doubloons around his neck, and so did I. That way we always had gold on our person. The flag is the one we hoisted after taking down whatever country's colours we chose to sail under. The dagger is Arrestar's; I took it from him when I left. In fact I took all of this when I left. I took the earring from his lobe after drugging his rum. He never felt a thing. Then I ran to the docks and was just in time to catch the next ship to England. I had bought a passage and bided my time so that I could take from Arrestar what was dear to him. That way, I knew he would come looking for me."

 

"From the Governor's letter it seems he did." Tom opened the journal carefully. "I have no idea how he was listed as dying in the Port Royale earthquake though."

 

"I suspect that because his house was there the authorities assumed he was killed in the earthquake, especially if he did not declare himself as alive afterwards. It was something Arrestar would do, after all."

 

Gildor placed three large white envelopes on the table. He gave one to Maglor who opened it and spread it out before Tom. He gave an envelope to Sauron, and placed the final one on the table, between himself and Lindir.

 

"We will be going soon, and so we need to tie up some loose ends. In these envelopes are details of all the properties we own and transfers of ownership. Of course, there is a waiver that the properties, effects and monies return to us if we are allowed to come back. That is highly doubtful though." Gildor opened his envelope. "Lucy, I had intended giving this to my solicitor, who would have given it to you. You are here, so there was no need. This envelope contains mine and Lindir's Will. We are leaving our properties and contents to you. Our bank accounts will be frozen for a period of seven years, which is the time required by law to be declared legally dead, and then split between several charities."

 

"But you are not going to die," Lucy said weakly, realising that one day she would be very well off indeed. "You are moving somewhere else, that's all."

 

"According to the prophecy, we are going to Valinor," Lindir told her. "There will be no coming back."

 

"Think of Valinor as the afterlife and you will get the idea," Sauron said.

 

"When we go missing we will have to be declared legally dead," Gildor said. "We have put aside the funds needed for that to happen. Our solicitor will get in touch with you about that. In the meantime the properties cannot be sold but you could rent them out. We have also arranged for a once off gift, separate from the will, to finance the upkeep of the properties so you do not incur any costs."

 

"I do not know what to say. It's like some horrid dream."

 

"Then say nothing." Sauron opened his envelope. "I brought this down with us when Lindir said it was time to go. I had hoped for a while longer here, but it was not to be. My will is in effect the same as Gildor and Lindir's. I have left my quayside house and contents to you, Lucy, with a separate gift of money for its upkeep. The safe in my bedroom contains well over a hundred thousand pounds. Only you know about it. The key is in the envelope. I have also left money to various animal and children's charities and enough for Lenin and Trotsky to be kept in comfort for the rest of their lives. There is, of course, the same proviso in case I am allowed to return; my solicitor advised me to include the clause. I told him that I was off on a great and dangerous adventure from which I might not come back."

 

Lucy sat stunned, not able to say anything. Sauron placed the envelope in front of her, saying nothing.

 

Maglor opened his envelope. "Gildor's solicitor kept my Will for safekeeping. I am leaving my apartment and contents to Tom, plus all my research, writing and royalties. I am also leaving a sum of money to you, Lucy, to thank you for being such a good friend and not falling away when George blackened my name. It was a hard time for me, but you made it bearable. I have also left enough for Maitimo to be cared for in comfort for the rest of his life."

 

Lucy started to cry. Tom just stared.

 

"Do not grieve for us," Lindir said consolingly. "We are going to the land of milk and honey. Our lives will be wonderful from now on. If anything, we should grieve for you having to stay here."

 

"It doesn't make it any easier," Tom said softly as the full impact of what the elves were telling him hit home.

 

"As soon as we found Lyonesse I knew our time was limited, but I had no idea we would be going so soon," Maglor said.

 

"I did not hear the call until three days ago," Gildor said.

 

"I heard it two days ago," Lindir said. "The people gathering on the next field must have heard it sometime before us, not that I feel like going over to talk to them. I took a quick scan and didn't recognise any of them."

 

"I did not hear it until this morning," Sauron said. "We were on our way here when it came."

 

Maglor sighed. "I heard the call when I was in the Bahamas. I am sorry Tom. I wanted to say goodbye to you properly; you are my oldest friend, that is why I invited you to join me here."

 

"I will miss you." Tom was unable to say anything more. He thought the group around the table were crazy, and his heart went out to Lucy who sat silently, wiping away the occasional tear.

 

"Let's all go to bed," Gildor suggested. Outside he could hear the people in the next field celebrating. He got up and shut the window. "We should be celebrating like them, but none of us are that insensitive. Lucy and Tom, I am sorry for your grief. It is as hard for us to say goodbye as it is for you, but at least we have had time to prepare."

 

"It didn't make it any easier." Sauron sighed. "Lucy, you take the bed. I will sleep downstairs."

 

Lucy stood up and left the table. Sauron watched her as she went. Gildor and Lindir wished everyone a goodnight and left the room.

 

"I want a fuck," Tom said. He took Maglor's hand and led him upstairs.

 

Sauron took a patchwork throw from the ottoman that Gildor and Lindir used as a coffee table and settled on the sofa. He placed a cushion under his head and went to sleep. Lenin and Trotsky decided to sleep on him, as they always did, whereas Maitimo ran into Lucy's bedroom and snuggled up against her as she sobbed herself to sleep.

 

 


	21. Sennen Cove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You realise that Lucy and I cannot see a bloody thing?"

 

The next morning Gildor awoke earlier than usual. He looked out of the window and was taken aback when he saw the tents in the next field spreading to the one beyond, many more than there had been the day before. The mist covered the sea, but would clear later on. A crowd of people in the tent field were staring out over the water as if expecting something to happen. They would have to wait until Vilya was ready.

 

"Lindir." Gildor gently shook Lindir's shoulder. "Go to the window and look. There is a whole sea of tents."

 

"Let me lay in. I want to enjoy our last few hours."

 

Gildor climbed back under the sheets. He kissed Lindir's shoulder before moving his lips to the crook of his neck. "We could make love for the last time in this bed. Who knows where we will sleep tomorrow."

 

There was a knock on the door. Gildor called to whoever it was to enter. Lindir rolled over, sighing irritably.

 

"We have to go down to the sea front," Maglor said as he walked into the room. He was fully dressed and appeared excited. "I know it's early but Vilya is going crazy." He held out his hand. The blue stoned ring on his finger flickered wildly, lighting up an already bright room.

 

Gildor sighed. "We will be down in a minute. Go and get the others up."

 

Maglor left the room. Gildor jumped back into bed and put his arms around Lindir. "There is still time for a quickie."

 

o0o0o0o00o

 

The elves stood on the beach at Sennen Cove. As far as their eyes could see, in both directions, stood other elves, some on the beach and others high above on the cliffs. All waited expectantly. The three cats ran around, playing on the sand, going nowhere near the sea.

 

"What are they waiting for?" Lucy whispered to Tom.

 

"I don't really know."

 

"Didn't Maglor tell you?

 

"No."

 

All was hushed. A local television van drew up as Maglor held Vilya aloft. The occupants could see the elves standing on the shore but an invisible barrier stopped them from approaching. Nevertheless, they started filming, using long range lenses to capture film of those who waited. The film would capture nothing except the elves walking into the sea and disappearing.

 

The choppy sea stilled, as if it were under an enchantment. Vilya's light grew even more intense before shooting a wide spreading beam across water.

 

"I can see them," Lindir said softly to Gildor, so as not to break the quiet. He pointed. "Look!" Slowly the very tips of the ruins of Mithlond rose above the surface.

 

"I can't see anything," Lucy muttered to Tom, who agreed that he could not either. Neither could understand why the elves all along the sea front were cheering.

 

In the distance, the ruins continued to rise. They looked more like rocks than abandoned buildings. The water spilt from them as they rose, the only disturbance in the otherwise still sea.

 

"We are going to live there?" Lindir asked Gildor.

 

"Apparently so," Gildor replied, not at all sure of how they were supposed to.

"How come it's so near? Maglor said it was eight miles away."

 

"The Lyonesse excavations are eight miles away, but if the whole land mass has risen then England is now joined to France. Old Cornish legends say that if you listen hard enough, when the sea is stormy you can hear the bells of the churches beneath the waves."

 

"The Mithlond Bell for ships lost at sea," Lindir said with a sigh. "I see now."

 

"Doesn't look like Mithlond," Sauron grumbled. "Just looks like a load of rubble."

 

"I can't see a thing," Lucy said tartly. "I doubt any of you can either."

 

Maglor said nothing. Vilya continued to spray the sea before them with flashes of light as the ruins rose.

 

"I am getting a bit bored," Tom whispered to Lucy. "I believe they can see something we cannot. I doubt it is some great deception; we aren't important enough."

 

After an hour's wait the ruins stopped rising. Before the elves stood a dark and disfigured landmass joined by a spit to the rocks dividing the two sandy beaches at Sennen Cove. There was a tangible air of disappointment.

 

"What do we do now?" Gildor said as much to himself as anyone.

 

Lindir shook his head. "I thought it would be different to this."

 

"Walk to the spit and cross to Mithlond," Maglor ordered, his voice much louder than usual, crashing and echoing all around. "I will lead the way." He looked at Tom and Lucy. "This is where we say goodbye."

 

"You realise that Lucy and I cannot see a bloody thing?"

 

"Then you are not meant to," Maglor replied sadly. "I wish you could. But perhaps it is for the best that you do not. Maybe your heart would yearn to cross over to a place where you can never go."

 

Maglor kissed Tom and held him for as long as he dared, before quickly hugging Lucy and kissing her goodbye. Lindir and Gildor said their goodbyes before following Maglor.

 

"Lucy," Sauron said quietly. "I am going now. Let us part as friends if nothing else." Lucy nodded. Sauron hugged her hard. "I am sorry."

 

"It's all right," Lucy replied, her voice breaking.

 

Sauron released her before hugging Tom. Then he turned to Lucy and hugged her for a final time before running to join the others.

 

Lucy and Tom sat down on the sand and watched as the elves walked away.


	22. The Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think he is wearing pyjamas."

[ ](http://photobucket.com/)

Erestor

 

Sauron saw the body first. It lay washed up on the beach, white and beginning to swell. "Look Maglor. Do you think that body is part of this?"

 

"We are not going to our deaths," Maglor replied. "That is probably a suicide victim. There are quite a few here every year. Besides, he has been in the water for too long."

 

"I think he is wearing pyjamas."

 

Lindir joined them. As they passed he moved the face of the victim with his boot so he could get a better look. "Oh, my!"

 

"Shit!" Sauron gasped.

 

Maglor looked on dispassionately. "I always said George would come to a bad end. On the other hand, it probably means Erestor has been here. There is no other reason for George's body to be here otherwise. He was never altruistic enough to kill himself, let alone travel hundreds of miles to do it."

 

"How can Erestor be responsible for George's death?"

 

"I have no idea, but I bet he is."

 

They passed by the body and continued onto the spit. Further ahead they saw a number of ghostly forms walking from the sea and land, making their way to the ruins.

 

"There go the dead," Maglor said. "They get to go home first."

 

"Erestor will be in their number," Sauron said softly.

 

"If he is actually dead," Maglor replied. "I am beginning to doubt it more and more."

 

Maitimo ran past Maglor, as if in a great hurry.

 

"What's up with that cat?" Lindir asked, surprised.

 

Maitimo ran to the spit and crossed over to the ruins before falling over. Maglor ran forward to rescue his cat and lead him back to the beach.

 

"He's dead," Maglor said as he cradled Maitimo in his arms. "Why?"

 

The cat dissolved into nothing and before Maglor stood the ghost of his brother. Maedhros laughed. "You should see your face!"

 

"You were my cat?"

 

Maedhros shrugged. "Yes."

 

"Why?"

 

"No reason, except that I wanted to protect you from Erestor. Many is the time he went to walk through a mirror and I stopped him."

 

"Why?"

 

"The Valar wanted you to grow and be yourself for when you arrived in Valinor. When you meet Erestor again it will be on equal terms, which is exactly what an elf like him needs. By the way, he is dead, but his fëa is so strong that he can achieve physical form for short amounts of time." Maedhros sighed happily. "It is beautiful here, is it not?"

 

"Hardly." Maglor replied, wondering what his brother could see.

 

"Perhaps it is because I am dead as well. When my form as a cat touched the ruins I was set free." He looked around, smiling. "Everything looks so wonderful."

 

Maglor crossed the spit linking the two lands, and it was if the scales had fallen from his eyes. Everything was indeed beautiful. Círdan's swan ships lay waiting at the dock and further beyond, hundreds of them gently bobbing on the water. Above the dock stood the palace of Mithlond, a glorious building carved from the top of a small mountain. Walkways lined with flowers led the way from the docks to the palace and the city beyond. In the far distance Maglor could just see the snow-capped peaks of the Blue mountains. Up above the sun shone and the seagulls screeched. A light breeze flicked the ends of Maglor's hair.

 

"See you on the other side," Maedhros said before moving away to join the rest of the elven fëar.

 

In the distance, a golden light rose, as if Mithlond was to be blessed with a second sun. The fëar of the elves collected in the far end of the bay, waiting and still. Maglor could see glints of light crackling beyond them, forming a great curve, as if along unseen edges. Eventually the vision became clearer.

 

"The crystal bridge," Lindir cried out from behind.

 

"Are we to walk it or catch the ships?" Gildor wondered.

 

"I am sure we will know when the time comes."

 

One of the fëar broke off from the others and floated across the bay. He was able to take physical form for only a few moments, but doing so was more important than anything he had ever done before. Maglor's heart skipped a beat as he realised who it was, wild and beautiful, the wind flipping the ends of his thick black braid, woven through with ribbons of red and gold. Through one ear hung a gold earring studded with diamonds, fashioned from the stolen wedding band commissioned for the Spanish Infanta, or so Erestor bragged to Henry Morgan as they made plans to sack Maracaibo. A white silk shirt, trimmed with gold lace, hung loosely over his black leather breeches. The outline of two daggers and a pistol could just be seen as the sea breeze blew across the thin material. Warm blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes gazed lazily at Maglor, who wondered at the paradox of how the one he still loved could appear so beautiful when his heart and actions were as black as sin.

 

"I said that I would come back."

 

"You did."

 

Erestor and Maglor embraced, hugging one another hard and kissing for dear life. Eventually, they separated, Erestor was already beginning to lose his opacity.

 

"I will see you on the other side," he called, his voice echoing as if in a tunnel. Maglor waved, watching as the one he loved joined the other fëar.

 

Everything stopped. The gulls flew silently and the wind dropped. The first of the fëar mounted the crystal bridge and began to cross. The living elves watched, at once happy and sad. Maglor felt a tear trickle down his cheek. Would Erestor still be lost to him in the Halls when they crossed, or would the Valar make him the elf he once was? He would know when he crossed the sea.

 

When the last of the fëar crossed the Crystal Bridge, it was the living elves’ turn to do so. Vilya flashed across the sea to the Mithlond Dock. Slowly, a path appeared, level with the sea, leading to the Swan ships. In the distance, Círdan waved to them.

 

Maglor stepped onto the path first. The air was still, as was the water. As he walked the others followed in his wake.

 

"Did you see the elflings?" Sauron asked Gildor. "There are only a few, but they are in our number."

 

"It will be an adventure for them," Gildor replied.

 

"I saw them," Lindir said. "There were a couple of babies as well. There are so many elves going to cross that I suspect many were born after the last ships sailed. It is amazing that elves are able to find one another, so they can have children."

 

"We found one another," Sauron said.

 

"Elves will always find one another," Gildor said happily. "I suspect some of them had no idea that Mithlond even existed, except in legend."

 

As the multitude of elves crossed over the spit of land there came a collective gasping of delight as Mithlond was revealed to them in all its glory. It was clear that Gildor was right; many had never set eyes upon the realm.

 

Maglor continued walking until he reached the dock. Círdan stood before him and grinned. "Welcome home." He hugged Maglor and urged him to board one of the Swan ships. "This is an illusion only. When the last elf is on board, the ruins will start to go back to how they were."

 

Several elves stepped forward and urged the ones behind Maglor to board the ships. Maglor looked around for a final time before embarking. Lindir, Sauron and Gildor followed behind. The dock could hold twelve ships; as one ship filled with elves it moved away from the dock and another took its place. In the distance, Sauron could see Tom and Lucy walking away, Lenin and Trotsky running after them. The last of the elves had crossed the spit and there was nothing more to see.

 

"My heart hurts," Sauron mumbled.

 

"Yes, it must hurt terribly." Gildor laid his hand on Sauron's shoulder. "I cannot say that it will be any better on the other side. It must be the most generous love of all, to share your life with a mortal knowing that one day they will die."

 

"I loved her even though I knew I would eventually lose her."

 

"Well it has happened, just earlier than expected. Even if you had married she could have died at any time, because that is what humans do."

 

"I suppose so." Sauron looked over to the beach again. "I will miss my cats."

 

The first ship sailed to the foot of the Crystal Bridge. Slowly the ship rose in the air, following the curve of the bridge. Below them was the sea, and to their right was Land's End. As they passed higher they could see the whole of Cornwall.

 

"Until just now I could see our house," Lindir said sadly. Gildor put an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek.

 

"We will build one just like it."

 

At the apex of the Crystal Bridge the Earth fell away from view to be replaced by a golden light shining on a turquoise sea. In the distance, they could see a large harbour filled with thousands of elves. As the ship descended the elves cheered and waved to the passengers.

 

Lindir waved back."I don't know who I am waving to," he said happily. Gildor and Sauron laughed.

 

The ship landed on the water, gently, hardly making a ripple on the surface. There was a massive cheer from the crowds which grew louder as the ship neared to the dock.

 

"I can see Elrond," Sauron said. "There's Oropher. Oops, he's seen me. He doesn't look happy."

 

"He never looked happy at the best of times." Gildor chuckled. "Oh look! There is Gil-Galad."

 

"Where?" Lindir asked eagerly.

 

Maglor stared ahead, not seeing anyone other than the one he wanted to see. For there at the front stood the one he adored above all, wild and beautiful, the slight wind flipping the ends of his thick black hair, woven through with ribbons of red and gold. Through one ear hung a gold earring studded with diamonds. A white silk shirt, trimmed with gold lace, hung loosely over his black leather breeches. The sea breeze blew across the thin material. Warm blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes gazed lazily at Maglor, as he disembarked.

 

"Macalaurë. Come to me."

 

"I thought you might be sent to the Halls."

 

"None of us were."

 

They embraced, filled with joy, while the elves immediately around them smiled at their happiness.

 

"I never stopped loving you," Erestor said, as they parted from their kiss. "I sailed to New Providence two days before the earthquake."

 

"You were declared dead."

 

"Which suited me very much. I continued as a pirate; there was no finer way of life back then. But I was lonely. I missed you so much." Erestor kissed Maglor's lips again before continuing. "I carved your name on the Bimini rocks under the sea. If you found it you would know the earthquake did not kill me. That was after I was sentenced to death along with Calico Jack's crew. I gave my name so they could report my escape. That way you would know I had survived."

 

"What happened afterwards?"

 

"I sailed to England. We were sailing too near to the Morte Point cliffs in Devon during a storm, the foulness of which would have to be seen to be believed. The hull was torn apart by the rocks and every soul on board drowned, including me. My body was smashed to bits, so badly that I could not be recognised. My fëa carried on though. By sheer will I was able to find you. It took hundreds of years, but I managed in the end. Your cat stopped me from coming through the mirror. He is not a cat at all. I think he is a Maia."

 

"He was my brother, Maitimo," Maglor said as he stroked Erestor's cheek. "Cats never did like you."

 

"I am sure there is a cat somewhere that does." Erestor laughed and hugged Maglor again. They stood arm in arm watching as the other disembarked.

 

Gildor and Lindir were met by Elrond and a few of the Lords of the Wanderers. There was much happiness. Sauron watched as they hugged one another and laughed with joy. His heart sank. He doubted that anyone would come to greet him.

 

The crowd opened out as a beam shone down from the sky. Sauron watched as the elves bowed low and averted their faces. Through the beam walked a tall being, bronzed from the fires of his forge, and wearing decorations of mithril. He held a huge hammer in his right hand. The other he extended out to Sauron as soon as he disembarked.

 

"Mairon, your journey has been long but now you are home. Come back with me to where you belong."

 

Sauron's heart rose in his mouth. He could say nothing. The hand of Aulë was more than he had ever hoped for. The Vala had been his mentor and guide before he abandoned him to follow Melkor. He had not dared to believe that his homecoming could be this good or fortunate.

 

"My Lord," Sauron said softly. He bowed low as he extended his hand. Aulë took hold of him and then they were gone.

 

"I did my job well," Erestor said, smiling widely. "Elrond told me to teach him empathy and it seems I did. You should have seen his face when I put his old collar on his coat rack. I couldn't stop laughing for at least two hours."

 

"Stop being cruel," Maglor ordered. Erestor seemed shocked. " I am not the elf I once was and I will not tolerate your behaviour of old."

 

"Then perhaps you are now the elf I need you to be." Erestor smiled, as if he had already won.

 

"I am more than that," Maglor told him. "From now on you will be the elf I need _you_ to be."

 

Erestor shrugged. "I have been in worse situations." He winked at Maglor and put his arm around him. "Come on. We are wasting time."

 

As they walked away the tip of Erestor's bullwhip snagged on a piece of chipped wood and unravelled from under his shirt. Maglor told him to leave it; he would not need it anymore.

 

Erestor shrugged. "It matters not. I can get another one." Maglor raised his eyebrows. Erestor gave him a cheeky smile and carried on walking.

 

 


	23. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outside the rain poured...

**Seven Years Later - The Strand, London.**

 

Tom and Lucy sat together in Simpson's-in-the-Strand. That morning the High Courts of Justice, had ruled that Maglor, Sauron, Gildor and Lindir were legally dead. It should have been a celebration: both had profited well from the ruling. Instead it was a solemn affair.

 

Lucy and Tom had become good friends after the elves had left. Lucy had left the employ of the university and gone to the Bahamas to type up Tom's book on the pirates, Arrestar and Macalaurë. He had become famous among academic circles, because not only did the journals give details of the pirates' lives, they also revealed the location of buried treasure and documents leading to other journals the pirates had written.

 

Lucy rented out the properties. It turned out that Gildor and Lindir owned quite a few. Lucy was very well off indeed. The house where Sauron had lived was closed. She left it intact as a memorial to the only man she had ever loved.

 

"It's like a long nightmare is over," Tom said as he cut into his chateaubriand.

 

"Everything is so final. While we waited all these years I still hoped they would come back. Today just brought it all back again. I wish I had never come." Lucy pushed her plate away. "I cannot eat."

 

Tom pushed it back. "We can move on. In fact, we have been doing just that since they left. That part of our lives is over. The elves would not want us to be sad. They were not so when they left. So let us drink a toast to them and enjoy what we have left." He held his glass up to Lucy. "To our friends, Maglor, Gildor, Sauron and Lindir. In another world, yet still in our hearts."

 

Lucy picked up her champagne glass and touched it to Tom's. "Cheers."

 

Outside the rain poured. After a brief flash of lightning the thunder came. The inside of the restaurant felt cosy and warm. Tom and Lucy looked at one another and giggled.

 

"It's almost as if they can hear us."

 

"Yes." Tom smiled.

 

"After this, let's skip dessert and go for a walk in the rain," Lucy suggested.

 

Tom felt indulgent; a good meal always made him feel like that, besides, the muted overhead light made Lucy's skin appear luminous. She was unlike anyone he had ever known. "Anything you say," he said softly. They had known each other for a long time, slowly growing closer. Tonight he would tell her just how he felt.

 

They left the restaurant, Tom's arm around Lucy's shoulder. He held a large umbrella, sheltering them both. They walked up the Strand, enjoying the cool rain, and with them went the secret of the elves and their final journey all those years ago.

 

 

 

_“A land of matchless grace was Lyonesse,_  
 _Glorious with rolling hills, rejoicing streams,_  
 _Hoar monuments upreared when Time was young,_  
 _Wide plains of forest, slopes of golden corn,_  
 _And stately castles crowning granite peaks”_

Idylls of the King by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture sources.
> 
> Title page by Ardisia at http://ardisia.livejournal.com and http://artbox.livejournal.com.
> 
> The Capture of the William - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capture_of_the_William  
> Old Port Royale - http://www.gutenberg.org/files/19396/19396-h/19396-h.htm - from an etext book titled 'On the Spanish Main' by John Masefield.  
> Newcastle University - www.chroniclelive.co.uk  
> Land's End - unknown source - please contact me if it is yours so I can credit  
> Lyford Cay Marina - www.thenassauguardian.com  
> Bimini Wall - http://wikimapia.org/6389575/Bimini-Road  
> Quayside - www.trekearth.com   
> Erestor - Ardisia at http://ardisia.livejournal.com and http://artbox.livejournal.com.


End file.
